I think you’re going to kill me, and I can’t look into your eyes. There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do to turn back the hands of time. I didn’t mean it, it was stupid, I’ll take every ounce of blame. I rush to pick the pieces up and put them back together again.
“It’s okay, it’s just a plate,” you say, “Why are you crying, Babe?”
You’re nicer than my mother, who’d say, ‘Pull yourself together, Idiot!’ my father, who’d call me useless, the man before you, who’d break my jaw.
I sniff, “I just really liked this one!”
© Billie-Leigh Burns