what we do not have

We do not have symmetry,
We do not have grace
As sleek as baby’s lips.
What we have are shards
Of glass, their teeth bright
And prescient: “We will hurt
You.” Can you still remember
How my voice played inside
Your head? Can you still remember
How cats always had their way
Of sleeping, standing—a position
That makes us more human,
A stance that makes us more
Inadequate? But consider these
Forgotten, thrown at the sky’s
Questioning face. Like crusts
Of dry paint, we will press on
That what we may have will be
An assemblage of mess and glory,
An impression that likely lasts.