The first cut will always be mine
The glass shatters, I scatter and send my children to safety,
Grab broom and dust pan, sweep up the hail strewn floor.
Square by square, tile by tile, I squint and stare at every shard
Check, recheck, check yet again against any shiny oversight.
So satisfied I take off my shoes set them aside bundle my socks sole inside
And walk the formerly glassy floor once or twice or more perhaps to ensure…
That I will be the first, last and only that cuts and bleeds,
And so uncut happily glassed free I finish the cleanup and leave.
The first cut will always be mine.