Broken glass

 11/16 It's raining today, and I took off my boots in the front hall. On the bench in the hall is a box, and I recognized it immediately. When Hannah moved it, she brought a box of broken glass from a windshield She had found in the street, and in her usual way, saw an opportunity for art. Art that she can no longer create. It feels solipsistic to talk about how this makes me feel, but nobody reads this anyway. I sat on the step and cried. I want to take the glass and make something for her, in honor of her, but feel like a fraud, a counterfeit.