Friday, July 13, 2012

Fine Crystal

Some things
Cannot be changed
Like when fine crystal
Shatters on a black tile floor.

So many, many years ago
When words were unknown…

The house no longer stands
In those leafy oaken groves
With it’s funny pink and blue paint
The detached garage
Built for much older cars
And the ringer-washer, the smell of soap
The passion flowers by the back door
Yes, that’s where it happened
In the kitchen.

The glass fell from your fingers
When you pushed on my neck,
And the pieces flew across the floor
Under the refrigerator
And into the bowl of water
For the cat
And glinted dangerously
Under the cabinets.

You had to get the broom
To sweep it up, like it never existed
And never happened.

But even after all those years
You can walk across that floor
And suddenly, something stabs
Your tenderest part
And that’s my fragile life
That is so very broken
But, drawing blood, memories

1 comment:

  1. David I love the detail here.... the way the everyday becomes larger, more mythic. Your concluding image is amazing. Certainly among your best work here.