if the things that she said were not false documents writhing
in her bruised and broken hands, then there would be no
remembering of the heartbreak or the piano keys that faltered.
the porcelain of her vision scrapped within her,
and the jagged rocks she had tried to crack were not
of prized geodes or stone. all decay and dead throats,
the red string long unraveled and the reflecting shards only blister her tired feet.