Barefoot Over Broken Glass

By R.D. Galván

Barefoot Over Broken Glass explores raw emotion, through autobiographical prose, and invites us to contemplate our own journeys and the elements that define our existence. It dissects the details of life that both hinder us and help us grow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798350933024

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Barefoot Over Broken Glass

Copyright 2023 Ruth D. Galván

Print edition ISBN: 979-8-35093-301-7

E-book edition ISBN: 979-8-35093-302-4

First edition: November 2023

All rights reserved.

This work is autobiographical in nature.

All reasonable attempts have been made to fairly and accurately

share the author’s true experiences.

Efforts have been made to protect the identity of those who might want anonymity. If you, or someone you know, recognizes themselves in this collection of poems, it is most likely, just a coincidence.

No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

For my children.

You have been my constant, crucial reminder,

that when given a choice, and a chance,

one should always pursue being barefoot over sand,

even when there is broken glass along the way.

You make everything beautiful.

I am certain I do not deserve you.

To my first, willing reader, thank you.

When I was empty, your encouragement,

patience, and coffee fueled me.

You are my Soft Touch.

I know you know the rest.

For anyone who finds themselves in the weeds,

in any way, you are not alone.

Alphabetical Listing of Poems by Title

Table of Contents

Three-Block-Rock

5:49 a.m. Go Back to Bed

A Million Unsaid Things

Failure

The Robin

If You Weren’t a Mama?

Did You Forget? 

Letter to My Daughters

Decisions

Aloe Vera 

Lovemaking

Sun Never Judges

Shoes

Bottle Caps

Mr. Whiskers

Pain and Panties

A Place to Rest

In Vino Veritas

Was There?

Your Children Are Not Your Children

Almost Death

Hope is a Four-Letter Word

Don’t

Me and You

When did I first know?

Half-Full is Also, Empty

You Turned One

One Moment on a Sunday

That is Why

Murderer

Better Man

Random

You Don’t Understand

You are in me. I am in you. 

Gone

Shame

I am not//I am

Lying Hands

Loving Eyes

The Lie

You’re Everywhere

Six Minutes

Door #2

11:30 Panic Time

Carnival Fish

S, M, T, W, Th, F, Sa

Thankful for Flies

Reflex Gone Wrong

Cellophane-Wrapped Carrots

Sloppy Sloppy

Ultimate Betrayal

Freedom v. Safety

Four Week Weekender

Green Light Memories

Grocery Store Shopping Cart

Cold Coffee

Barf

Silence

Your First 24 Hours

Let Me

Gone Now

Pick Up

Safe Coffee

First and Last

Perhaps

Finished

Not My Story

Pancakes

Meat-grinder

Waking Up

Epiphany

A Cigarette

Away

Tears

The Words Stay the Same

Little Love Notes

Los Dos

Decision Making

Learned Helplessness

Don’t Rush

Butterflies

¿Puede Ser?

Resignation

Letting Go

Coloring Your Days

Unafraid

Only a Guest

Bar of Soap

Soft Touch

Under a Microscope, No Place to Be

All Black

Death and Birth

Before You

900 Days

Stolen

Hope Again

With or Without You

Just the Way I Am

Long Lost Apology

Listen, Dammit, Listen

Go for Dread

Clock. Tock, Tic, Tic

Too Stupid

Happy

A Fall, Fast or Slow, Still Pains

Boundaries

To Forget

Liar

Claim Me

Purity

Heavy Sighs

Bison

Bunny

Badger

Bear

Lemon-Lime Drink Reflection

Whiskey Lies

Knock on the Door

Loud Noises

Shoes (the good kind)

Smother-in-Law

Simple and Complicated

Order Matters

Such a Fine Line

Locked Bathroom Doors

Truth

A Look

Eraser

Brunette

But it Gets so Heavy

Almost Wiser

Him

I Could Die Today

Tell Me Yes

Heaven

Envy

Four Hour Drive

My Lover

Without You

Allowance

Flashback Thanksgiving

Happiness

Fool’s Folly

Bigger Person

Not All Bad

Why I Went Away

Out the Way

Wanna Play Today

Forever is Only a Moment

Butt Cheek Warmer

A Moment in Time

Friday Afternoon

Hollow Heart

Coffee Spills, Misplaced Trust

Vomit on a Sunny Sunday

Mess

Curiosity

Wednesdays

Suspicious

Scraped Knees

Orange Starbursts

Final Goodbye

Healed

Lasts

Needle in My Eye

Hope

Nothing

Nothingness

Island

Reveal Yourself

Dígame Porque

Dígame

Mediocrity

Let Garbage Lie

Suicidal Songs

Equal Parts

Measuring Life

Christmas Morning Memory

Disgust

Permanent Solution

Spineless

Grandmother

Eluding Anger

Box of Chocolates

May You

Alone

Fate in a Vision

Alphabetical Listing of Poems by Title

Three-Block-Rock

Today I shared a story

about a student I had likened to a three-block-rock.

Some needed explaining, the sharp one, did not.

He asked, grinning, Did you come up with that yourself?

I stalled, unsure of how to respond.

Three-block-rock, he repeated.

I wanted to give you credit.

I wanted to give us credit.

I wanted to share the story of the day we made three-block-rock.

How our love was full of three-block-rock and other such things, comical things.

Clever things.

I did not.

Instead, I simply answered, we did.

The we, being you and me.

But now that I think about it,

the clever, silly bit,

was mostly,

just you.

Not only do I no longer see you,

you’ve made it impossible even,

to share the memory of you,

and your

three-block-rock.

5:49 a.m. Go Back to Bed

He was asleep,

still.

The musty aroma of sweaty, naked sleep filled my nose.

My scraped elbow, attached to my tender shoulder,

throbbed.

The throbbing synced up with the snore beside me.

Good Lord, where were my clothes?

I crept to the kitchen, toe to heel, to avoid squeaking wood floorboards,

and peeked at the coffee maker.

Too loud, too complicated, too expensive.

You’ll break it and wake him.

I peed.

Do I flush? Got to. Shhh.

I actually shushed the toilet. Quietly, but out loud.

Don’t wake him.

5:49 a.m.

Why can’t you just sleep, dammit?

You’re exhausted.

Should I leave? Should I stay?

What does he want?

I look in the mirror.

Yikes.

Rode hard and put away wet.

I crawl back into bed.

Lean into his chest.

Despite my discomfort, sticky, nakedness,

I feel safe.

A Million Unsaid Things

I’m lying on my back,

the fire burns beside me.

He looks up from between my legs,

What do you want?

What do I want?

I want someone to look at me and know by the wriggle of my nose or purse of my lips,

what I’m thinking.

I want more books than I can ever read.

I want the garbage taken out. Consistently. Reliably.

I want you to slap my ass always, even when I’m old and everything is gray.

I want you to let me tuck my cold tootsies under your calf in January.

I want you to choke me, but only a little.

I want you to hug me till I cry.

I want you to let me watch you cry.

I want you to understand why I hold my breath and flinch sometimes.

I want you to never hurt me on purpose.

I want you to marry me and mean it.

I want you to be aloe to my pain.

I want you to like it.

Instead, I say, Fuck me from behind.

He’ll never be able to see me that way.

Failure

I called off from work that day, I beat you to the dunes

you showed up after the fox had fled

kicking up sand as he hopped up to the tall grass and disappeared

he didn’t glance back, not even once

it was too cold to swim

though we had both worn our suits

we were optimistic people

I was clinging to a marriage that had been dead long before

we’d ever said

I do

you were clinging to your life

which had long since given up on you

as we sat on that beach, wind whipping my hair over my face,

I couldn’t help but remember the day we’d spent on the beach

fifteen years before

we had gone to catch the sunrise

at my request

we were both lying on our stomachs

towels under us and towels over us

dozing in and out of sleep

keeping warm

beside each other

I don’t