Broken glass
Look down at the subway floor.
I don’t know what to do.
When you talk to me, do you pretend to be happy so you don’t become a burden? or is dishonesty just easier?
In the spring, I looked up at a brick wall. Dirt, half-finished graffiti, a razor-wire spiral separating it from the sky.
Something was caught in the barbs, black, like the feathers of a crow. A shred of plastic, fragment of black garbage bag. Tangled in the wire and lifted up by the wind. Floating, flying, trapped. Hopelessly moving in its immobility.
Freedom only comes with destruction, ripping all the way through.
But then what? Do I tell you how sad I am? How lonely?
Do I ask you an unadorned question so that you can say no?
At least you could say no.
On the train a man stands near me, leans against the pole. Carries on a deep, guttural conversation with himself, with his spirit, with his demons. Head rolling back and forth. Eyes half-shut, unfocused. Emaciated body. Filthy, ill-fitting jeans held up with frayed rope. Words not stopping.
The train goes on, passengers getting off, getting on, shifting their weight in semi-conscious balance. He leans against the pole, words running.
And then I see that his hands have slid in past the loose waistband of those jeans, are starting to move. Head rolling back and forth. Words running.
Blood rusts into concrete.
Can you see your reflection in shattered glass?
Look down at the subway floor.
In a recent interview, I was asked this question:
David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
And my answer: Yes.
Yes. There is a certain feeling in the heart, and it can come from anything. The memory of a laugh. The evening sky reflected in broken glass. The voice of a cello that folds around song (I think of Appendix C by Holy Hum / Andrew Yong Hoon Lee). A charcoal drawing. A crow. Pine trees swaying in summer wind. Blood-stained concrete. Love. And, always and forever, heartbreak.
Question and answer excerpted from “12 or 20 (second series) questions with Meghan Fandrich.” Rob McLennan’s Blog. December 12, 2023.
Appendix C (song and album) by Holy Hum available at Bandcamp.
