What do you do with the pieces reflecting your past
as they float by again and again
sometimes presenting the long, smooth side,
so easily ignored,
sometimes the sharp, piercing point,
intent on drawing blood?
What’s the point of reassembling them all
especially when full memory fails
and you’ve moved way past the whole?
What if the next generation wants to view them too?
Too bad: those shards aren’t theirs.
They may glimpse the outer shapes,
claim them as familiar to themselves,
but the reflective sides repel.
They can’t share in the lessons.
They have to break their own.
