Saturday, April 10, 2021

 Earth Quakes


A glass table shatters

like a family

after the affair


or the woman’s cry

as she hears

that awful diagnosis. 


Tiny jewels fallen

into cracks, shards


of what was once 


a stable place for wine

and plates of food,


now scattered aimlessly 

across this surface remind

us of life’s intrinsic 

fragility and our naked

thirst for certainty.  


Such urgency unslaked.


How this next hungry

breath might be 

our last, 


or the newborn’s pink

and lusty first, lips 


quivering she leans

towards the mirror 


of shimmering 

fulfillment, then 

takes a sip. 

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