Broken Glass
I’m afraid of broken glass.
Glass like a sliver of ice holding
the lime slice above a cracked
rim of holy tequila’s tumbler.
Tiny shards of crystal flakes float
in organic spinach leaves. Swim
balsamic dressing. Drift among molars.
Broken plates thrown in a rage.
White crumbs on my tongue
when I lick the floor in remorse.
Houdini can escape without injury.
Broken shimmers mend, the pond
returns flat. My mind
still, I’m afraid of broken glass.
* * *
It's true. At least 2 out of 3 is true. Friday night a broken shot glass with a shard run through the lime (which I never use, thankfully) and last night: A crunch like sand in spinach - unremarkable. Except it was clear glass, sand changed. And I really am afraid of swallowing broken glass.
April 7, 2008
NaPoWriMo 4.07 (deb) Broken Glass
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4 Comments:
Cool and interesting poem, strange fear. How did you develop that? Perhaps that's a good prompt for us for tomorrow (as if you haven't exhausted it already)--strange fears.
Hmmm...I have more than one...
Whew. Intense. I have to think this one through a bit.
WD - Carolee had a free write of hers, not too long ago, that listed fears. A list poem of fears. The weird glass thing(s!) got it going for me on just one irrational fear.
And Dale, it is a little too intense. Tomorrow I am going for "happy" or at least "light" fears. As if. At least to be playful with my fears.
Saw this at Dale's. Wow, LOVE it. LOVE it.
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