The Wine Glass

I thought my wine glass was empty.

I brought it up high

I was standing on a cold concrete floor

I didn’t let it fall, I threw it down with force.

I sliced open my fingers

As I picked up the shards

To give them away.

It had been able to hold onto a few last drops.

All the glue and good intentions

Will never put me back together the same.

And now

And now

The many subtle scars on my hands

Do not cover the gaps in the glass when I hold it,

And they will never replace those missing shards

When I search for a refill.


One thought on “The Wine Glass

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