my fingers slipped

or maybe my focus

suddenly surprised

by my own empty hand

glass met granite

showering sharp stars

minuscule in their menacing

raining into the open

dishwasher

sprinkling the baby’s bottles

glittering clean spoons

landing like clear dust on

the bottoms of cereal bowls

one sandy grain

leaping a remarkable distance

reaching a part of the kitchen

I wouldn’t think to sweep

finding its way

days later

into the pad of my foot

leaving its mark

a crimson bloom

small as the dot of an i

it’s that way

when something

shatters

broken bits hide

in floorboard cracks

waiting

until the soft parts of you

are close enough to hurt