Afikomen/A few things I’ve broken

my father’s car, trying to swing wide      and fast
       around the first curve on Stuart Road,
       south of 104, trying to impress
       Janina Hendricks

my Schwinn, bouncing off the back
       of Kathy Hodgson’s father’s 72 Buick,
       north on Prospect Street, worth it
       when she ran to save me

the double-wide safety glass door, east wall of
       Waverly Grade School, kicked in by
       the horrible grief of knowing I had failed
       by losing my father’s hammer

my right arm, trying to tag Mike Bray,
my left, trying not to fall on my sister

a pony I loved dearly, foundered when I forgot
       to close the hayroom door

several favorite toys, two keyboards, a pricey
       ergonomic mouse, jewelry, a phone,
       a midden of things shattered
       when, feeling helpless, my temper
       slammed hard as hail

every glass and plate I then owned
       on Gorham Street, Madison, WI,
       on a night when the sound of shattering
       was the only comfort I could find

two hearts, each one loving me
       as I was just as I was
       trying to find who I might be

and each breaking has thrown shadders, sharp,
through my worlds, into my body

and if I now go searching, sifting,
       how many bones will need be rebroken,
       how much blood will flow?