Fish on glass

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And in the middle of the night,

the window blew open wide,

with a loud bang.

On the stone floor; remnants of my fish,

 and glass still holding droplets of water.

I call for my grandmother; in the next room

 but there is no sound.

I back under the blanket,

In the warm, dark quiet, I find refuge.

In the morning, it is going to be alright.

But In the morning,

darkness all around and deep quiet.

 In the kitchen, my mother moving

without making a sound.

My grandmother is still not about.

Something happened at night,

with the broken jar,

and my fish swimming on glass.

A word I never heard before is now all

around, sharp as a piece of broken glass,

drawing blood.