GRIEF Poem: Broken, by Tom Driscoll

The porcelain cup
fallen to the floor
and shattered there
—my clumsiness.

Sudden noise and scattered
shards. She was never one
for such gestures.

Her hands always
at the quiet task; her voice
in the silence.

I find the broom
and dustpan, sweep
my painted concrete floor.

It’s quiet work for a while.