Need

i know i need to break something
& it reminds me that
i'm here in the soil with all 
the other animals,
with our impulses to hurt
anything we can. 
what kind of frustration 
calls this out of us?

you tell me to take a plate 
& throw it down
on the tile kitchen floor 
& i remember all the times 
i broke plates by accident
at my parent's house, 
all the dishes 
with the blue & yellow flower designs
the shards of plate: 
prehistoric teeth
jagged on the ground,
picking the fragments up with
my bare fingers & wondering if 
it could be worth it to try &
piece the plates back together.
instead we'd slide the pieces
carefully into the trash.

when no one
is here 
i do give in & open the cupboard
& i do throw just one
plate onto the floor,
one of the thick clay-colored plates,
it breaks nice & clean,
& i do love the sound it makes
the sound of impact
& i do love how it shatters
no tiny slivers just triangular hunks
of ceramic
& i do need to break more 

taking all the plates down 
i move onto glasses & mugs
i don't pause to think of you
& whether or not 
you might tell
me to stop, whether or not
you might tell my that 
i've done enough
this is the issue with watching 
objects break, it's never
quite enough

until all 
the dishes are broken
every bowl & glass &
tea cup, a glorious pile of bone.
i walk through in bare feet
because i can, because all 
of it was mine,
because it was my house
& because i am an animal too
of the soil 
with teeth 
made of broken plate.