Humans are clumsy creatures. We do NOT land on our feet, but so much lands around our feet in shards and splinters. I personally seem to project a field of chaos—technology fritzes out, clocks slow down, sidewalks crack, people trip and fall, hopes crash and best intentions collide all at my presence.
Write a poem or short story about what you have broken: hearts and a liver, globes—whether worlds or grapes, a companionable silence, a marriage, bones or an exoskeleton, the shadow of a bird, a unicorn’s last hope, a sense of order, any sense at all, etc. After you broke it, did you buy it? If you did, in what coin did you purchase its loss? If not, whom or what do you still owe? Where do you carry that debt? On your back, around your neck, in your belly or inside your throat?
For inspiration, read “What’s Broken” by Dorianne Laux.
Hulk toe smash.