Scrubbing Broken Bones with Soap

Sitting on a dusty floor of wood and glass shards,

Under a mirror dangling on the wall, cracked jagged in two,

Scrubbing broken bones with soap and sewing them with twine,

Glancing at the frozen clock hoping desperately for change,

Hearing a ticking and a tocking and a tipping and a tapping

But its just the sounds of the mirror, falling to the floor of dust and wood.

A single red thread runs through the middle of the bones and

Up to the mirror and threaded through the glass.

Pulled taut against the strain of bone and bladed glass,

Pulled taut together and fitting unmatched jags,

Breaking more shards onto the floor

And into skin.