Glass Menagerie
By James Bezerra
It seems that I collect
wine glasses
from women who
once were in my life.
One like a thick goblet; tall and strong, the glass bubbled with almost charming imperfections.
One all petite and curvy and the deepest hue of blue.
One so pretty - glass as thin as hope - so fragile that it’s frightening to hold.
One made of plastic, but cool green corrugated plastic. It feels good under your fingers.
I can never decide if
empty wine glasses resting in my cabinet
look lonely
or eager or
just dissappointed in me.
.
.
.
.
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