There’s always something that will take you
to the doorstep of your trauma; this songbird
sounds like every other songbird,
sounds like the songbird outside my mother’s house.
Me, bicycle-racing through the cold
fog-breath of morning. Me, sliding into gravel driveway.
Imagine my kneecaps a steel cow stop, bright rust
bleeding. Imagine every part of me a harder part of me,
or, better, imagine me, after all this, still being soft.
I’m not searching
through the wreckage anymore.
I’m not waiting
for some great gust of wind
to blow this way.
Thunder strikes in some cornfield
down the street and I’m not frightened
of you or any other harsh light
striking down. Regret is a town
I don’t visit anymore.
”Secondhand Broke” is a poem that I wrote in 2019. It was published in Vulture Bones Magazine, which you can read online.