i keep breaking the glasses
when i wash them.
the fine ones with thin straight edges.....
i shatter them on the tap,
on bowls....against themselves.
i hear their crashes like bones
smashing and tinkling into the dishwater.
i reach my hands in just to feel
the warm run across my skin,
exhaling into my bloodstream.....
pick up the bodies of the wounded
swaying on the bottom of a vast ocean,
empty jars and
flatware, graves and fishes.
glass disappeared against the water,
sharp knives,
sharp edges,
my hands
waving for friendly caresses.

03/25/2003

Author's Note: based loosely on the fact that i have broken 4 of my favorite set of glasses in the last month....

Posted on 03/26/2003
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