LIFE WITH BLUE GLASS
I love holding a cobalt blue glass
full of wine, love how the sun
teases and toys with my eyes,
even how the dust particles float around,
barely visible and evasive,
like the truths I used to hold dear
that exploded, leaving shrapnel
on the heart.
Still I must admire my blue glass collection
without getting stuck in the mud of memories,
murky, thick, threatening to suck me back
to a past that tries to hold me captive forever.
I want to fly ahead, to get lost in indigo beams
of color dancing madly, sparkling, radiant,
as life should be when we love and are loved.
I know what happens in a moment of inattention,
when one nymph-like wisp of a negative thought
falls across the face, draws a heavy curtain
over hopeful eyes and can’t be easily brushed away.
how quickly the sunbeam flees, afternoon shadows fall,
surround us with barbed wire, with armed sentries
that are only ourselves holding us back from living.
I have lived enough to know the padlock of the past
has a key sitting on a table on the planet of today.
If I peer into the future, make plans that feel solid,
that fit my palm as though I chose the perfect
apple meant for me from a bowl of fruit,
if I begin to count the ways I will win
before the popcorn pops in time for a halftime snack,
I might claim the gold waiting quietly in the rainbow pot,
or I might drop the blue vase expecting to greet a rose,
and spend my days picking up a million cobalt shards.
my hope, friends, is in this precise moment of warm sun
projecting colors on a small spot of golden oak
where the black dog is sleeping now.