The picture in the frame on the wall

Do you remember the picture you hung on the wall
in the frame you had built custom size
in an ancient house left to crumble
that we had inherited?  It took that earthquake
(as if some force was saying stop this-)
to knock it down and shatter the glass;
I think you tried to pick the picture up, I think
you tried to believe you could make another frame
-of lighter wood this time-
but didn't your very bare feet feel sudden sharp shards
piercing acutely where your nerves begin and end
as you stood in that hallway I thought I had thoroughly swept?
Didn't you bleed and curse the pain, and didn't
that blood blend into the paint
already red on the floor with the crack
that went down to the foundation?
...all this just to say that I'm trying to remember
what it was a picture of
and why we used to stare at it
for hours.
"It's such a good picture," I remember I said,
and I really did believe it, too.