When Glass Breaks

By Tatum Spriseter | January 17, 2021

I did it for my mother.

I wrote songs and psalms and

hoped they would fill her lungs

enough to breathe.

Enough to relax.

Enough to let me be.

I made my word combos,

sweet and subtle,

because so many combinations are not.

Because when a

“You just haven’t found the right boy”

poisons all systems like a parasitic vine,

I can guarantee that a

“I’m gonna turn you straight”

will follow,

barreling into your gut,

making you happily, holily, unfilled.

My words,

sweet, subtle, and completely unmine,

are not for the sweaty boys in the backs of classrooms,

but a curtain

for the cousins that would distance

for the grandma that would disown

for the uncle that would degrade,

For the mother with shattering lungs,

each tug at my sweet and subtle mask,

a new shard.