This morning a rock flew
through our window. My daughter
crying in the bedroom,
a man reached through the broken
glass and turned the lock.
I don’t know if it was my steps
or her cries, small and shattered,
that frightened him. He left
the door hanging, March wind
blowing through the kitchen.
All morning I swept glass,
the window frame rained
shards with every pass
of my broom.
My place has never been so clean.
That evening, my daughter
is in bed, the new window firmly in place.
Still, I’m finding glass under the fridge,
and in the dog’s dish.
No matter how much I sweep,
there it is: the window,
the rock, my daughter’s broken
cry. Small scattered stars.
About this Poem
This poem was originally published in the 27 July 2015 issue of Vallum Contemporary Poetry, where you may also listen to the poet reading this work. She recently edited Tag: Canadian Poets at Play (2016)
You can find her works of poetry and books for children in the KFPL collection.
