Remember Used Glass
I picture the room we spoke in
Surely, empty now as the night has crawled in
The floors having been stepped on so many times
By the foreign feet of humanity
I picture the carpet, clean and florescent,
The leaves designed to intertwine with the other
The wall, welcoming with neutral fall colors,
With glory-based pictures, big and small
I remember the glass too well,
My hands pressed upon one down the hall,
As unwanted tears began to fall,
Shortly after we had spoken
I remember the empty room in front of me,
Just before the hall began,
How I wish I could hide in the darkness,
Crawl on the comfortable couch,
And sleep away the sadness
I remember the happy faces all around,
The glasses of water, cooling us on the blazing day
And the used cups, pushed to the right side,
Often mistaken for clean…
No, but you…
You were never mistaken,
The moment you spoke to me, it was clear,
I would be thrown to the side,
Clean, yes, though not clean enough
Do you remember how refreshing it was?
To drink me in with your special surroundings,
With the jovial faces and the welcoming walls
Your eyes never knowing those empty halls
The halls in which I will remember forever…
Do you remember?
Setting a glass aside, adjusting your suit jacket,
Clearing your dry throat
Messing with your tie,
Breathing steadily,
And blinking…
Before you decided to set me down,
Discarding me like glass when drained…
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
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