Shattered Things

I come from a line of shattered things
and throw away paper planes that flew for a time
from steadfast sadness acres over

It’s hard enough to grieve alone 
harder still when you find the truth and then,
freeze frame, you’re stuck and

you can’t move on with the official story 

because it doesn't make sense anymore- it
just won't comply respectably like your dead cat

buried in the garden with rosy tulips all round to

make it pretty-no,it casts a shadow over everything
you see,and everything you do

death, that is-real death, not the lovely, tearful kind 

in war movies with soundtracks-No, it’s the cyclonic kind
that leaves a wild rash on your soul

and never stops itching until you tend to it’s secrets 

keeping them detains your brain,yet 
you dare not speak their words which make colossal bulwarks

crumble into dust ,thundering and blasting what 

remains until the lies begin again to build

and shatter things

amy whittlesey

july 2013