Broken Hand

The week I broke my hand
My neighbor told me to take care of it well,
"Or you'll regret it when you're 50!"

It was the same week my heart broke,
A thousand shards glittering.

We taped it with popsicle sticks
To thwart a cast ruining summer
Avoiding the water an impossibility.

The glass of my heart is sharper,
No amount of tape will suffice.

He saw me a few days later,
Hand out toward the sun,
"What are you doing? You have to let it heal!"

Healing seems like a distant dream,
I'd rather sweep it all away.

These broken things,
Attempting to mend correctly.
But without a cast, there will always be a bend in my hand.