A Broken Broom, Sweeping

Jagged, glittering tides

Of broken glass

Piled up before the will

Of the broken broom

Pushed around

As the wind howls


The air is still

Atomic silences

Finding relief

In picking through

The aftermath

Seeing what survived


Letters ravaged

Into sodden ribbons

Entire symphonies

Of memories reduced

To faint melodies

Carried on the wind


Smiling at the detuned

Sky and remembering

The trick of breathing through

Not closing down but open

Even when, no especially

When it hurts


He called the storm

Upon himself

Sought to live

Somewhere uncharted

Without memory

Without recrimination


It blew the house down

But he stayed inside

Knowing the foundations

Would hold and he came up

Knowing he’d survived and

Would again


Clearing a space

Room enough to dance in

Not everything was lost

He cleans up a cut which will scar

But there’s a story in it

Which was part of his gift


His curse.

But there’s coffee brewing in the

Pot and light enough

To write by, to live by

And he can breathe just as well

In the dark.


He will not say

The storm’s name

It has passed and

In the surviving will live

Past when it’s an anecdote

Told to strangers


He will be glad

To count himself amongst them


2 thoughts on “A Broken Broom, Sweeping

  1. This reads as a powerful salvage operation. I initially thought the chop and change from howling wind to still air, and then back to numerous references to storm was jarring, but after more readings I see the underlying confusion as totally appropriate. Well done again, Matt.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s