shards ovenbird A tiny shelf of glass calved from the base of the jar of red curry paste as I was using a spoon to extract the last bits at the bottom. I didn’t notice. I didn’t see it fall into the sauce I was making for the baked salmon. I didn’t know it ended up in your bowl. I didn’t understand the danger until you spit it into your palm and we stared, horrified, at a weapon no bigger than the nail on my pinky finger, its edges like knapped flint, sharp enough to tear the soft corridors of your body apart. We laughed, because what might have been wasn’t, and we didn’t know what else to do. I swallow the shards of each day and bleed endlessly into my abdominal cavity. I guess I’ve always wanted you to understand what that’s like. But not this way. Definitely not this way. It wasn’t my fault, but I served myself guilt for dessert. Tart and cold, it sliced open everything on the way down. 260612 what's it to you? who go blather from