I hear them whisper to me from time to time.

They say things that sound like

crunching glass,

an instrument strummed after long being out of tune.

Sometimes I step in.

Sometimes I sweep up the glass for them,

so they won’t cut their feet.

She made sure you took off them nasty shoes!

Smells real bad, but it stinks so sweet.

Going barefoot is a tossup,

Lit cigarettes or something with sharp teeth.

The making of me happened suddenly,

like the universe.

Chaotic but precise

(in its timing, at least)

And like her,

I will continue to be.