Like glass shattered by the flight of a stone,
a girl breaks beneath the weight of her grandfather.
She loves him. He is good.
He smells of hickory smoke and berries.
This smile is unfamiliar, in his palm he holds
a wildflower, she can’t name it but it’s beautiful.
A gift for a girl special to no one.
She moves like a ghost in a crowded house
a small shadow in the silence of herself.
He opens his palm to offer the flower,
petals bent, stem removed.
She reaches into his palm,
spreads herself open to his hand.
For a moment she matters to someone
for a moment her body breaks open
like glass bursting at the touch of a flying stone.
Cleaved, ruptured, wreckage soaring into shadow. 

Bridget Gage-Dixon was born in Glens Falls, N.Y, and has had her poems published in Poet Lore, The Cortland Review, and New York Quarterly.