Broken Glass

When I find all the pieces of my heart
Maybe I'll love again.

My heart broke like a wine glass hitting the tile on the kitchen floor, the dark red liquid staining the grout rose. Exploding & distributing tiny shards to lay undiscovered in dark nooks and crannies, under the fridge or behind the bin, just waiting for an unsuspecting toe or finger to find them as I fumble around distracted and unprepared for the sudden, sharp reminder of the loss of a good drop of wine and a favorite piece of glassware. One of a matching pair, gone forever, it's mate left sitting awkwardly on the shelf, set apart by simply being alone.

Spring cleaning. That's the ticket. A good sweep up. Give the floor a good, hard scrub. Get in there behind the fridge. Catharsis. And when it is done, pour another glass of wine and sink into an armchair and sip and watch dust motes dancing on sunbeams. Soaking up the warmth after a long winter.


September 25th, 2012
Atlanta