The Griffith Flaw

When I lived in the world
Of laboratories, glass, machines and noise,
A white-coated novitiate in
The delicate chemistry of mixing things,
We were warned of the Griffith Flaw in glassware
The crystal lattice structure bruise
From bouncing, banging, bumping
A thousand times on unforgiving surfaces,
Heating and re-heating beakers
In repetition just to prove a point,
Until one unexpected day
The slightest touch of cup to countertop,
It pops.
The shattered pieces propelled out
At last revealing an atomical dysfuncionality,
The reality
Of things rushing towards entropy
As just this morning, likewise
Brushing teeth and peering in the mirror
For the billionth time this life,
I couldn’t see me anymore,
The damage of reflection done
And pieces flown away,
What was left, was changed
In ways I could not say.