Poems & Stories

Between layers.

I bought a kit to repair a cracked windshield.

It didn’t affect my view.

Still it was there,

nagging me.

I asked my son to help.

I thought it was important 

to teach him how to fix broken things .

I explained that the glass was not one layer, but 3. 

2 layers of glass with resin wedged

between.

He helped the way 17 year olds do,

when it’s gloaming

and friends are vibrating.

Are we good? He asked.

Yes. I said, although I knew we weren’t,

The resin had to cure. 

He left.

Funny how things change depending on circumstances.

Clouds have the best view and part serenely without fanfare.

I am the space which is close to the leaf before falling.

I smelled the September air on that August evening.

The crack was still there.

Uncured. 

Getting between layers is never easy.

Maybe I hadn’t applied enough pressure or too much.

My son had left the brokenness behind as a

distant affair.

I admired that.