Before it Breaks
By Dara Laine
Sideoats grama droops
only on one side—
a tilt unseen
until the light flickers
across its tilted stem.
The line collapsed.
Only so many clicks—
Grandpa said
that’s all a thing can take
before it breaks.
I wanted to believe
he’d be okay.
Not a lie—then—
but close enough
to blur the edges.
The grass curved.
The hours tipped sideways.
I slipped—
foot caught in raised roots—
nothing strong enough
to stop the drift.
​
Dara Laine (she/her) is a poet and evaluator based in Baltimore, originally from a hay farm in New Jersey. She returned to poetry after the sudden death of her father. Her work explores grief, memory, and the sacred ordinary through restrained lyricism, domestic detail, and spiritual undercurrents.