You put a hammer through
The TV screen we found together clandestine in the junkyard
I can see your hands anxious as two feral cats every movement angry purpose
Your grip on the hammer
The way you swung it mercilessly
And without looking back
Handing it to me handle first your knuckles loose around the claw
As if it were on a trapeze between us, so sure I’d be there to catch it.
When the glass broke for me
There were no diamonds
Only static pouring out
Crawling across the ground at you
Calling your name in the language of white noise. And now
I’m stuck mourning a ghost
Or something worse, but
I can’t remember what.
These feelings are more than passing strange They stick to my hands like
Gun powder residue
Peppering me with the shadow of lost crimes. Yet somehow I see your face
Torn out from a million moments billowing smoke over gravestones
Or disappearing tire tracks
The broken glass scattered like diamonds.
You put them there.
Gia Grillo is a poet living and working in the shadow of New York City. She has been writing poetry since early childhood and now in her thirties has helped run workshops for local high school and grade school students, including hosting a community workshop and open mic. This workshop gave many of these students a venue outside of school to express themselves and was an opportunity for poets of all ages and levels of experience to share work, with a focus on making poetry a cathartic and accessible art form.