I was four years old when I broke
my first pair

having fallen asleep with them on
having then rolled over

whatever my mother said after that
I couldn't swallow

it stuck to my tongue
it dissolved there like an aspirin tablet

whatever my father said was medicine as well
intended I'm certain to cure me early

of my carelessness
my irresponsibility

I thought by now those pills would all be gone
I thought I surely would have thrown them away

but today when someone asked me to name
an early childhood memory it was still

the brittle snap of those plastic frames
sharp as a mirror cracking

an alarm waking me
again into the blurry world

where I knew I'd done something wrong
something I might not ever grow out of