The Glass

As I gripped the glass in my hand, I studied its form The diminutive stem of depression era green was pale and nearly transparent It supported the fragile, colorless goblet, also very small and featuring a decorative etch just below the rim Perfect for sipping a classic Martini And with each sip, I pondered whose lives had it touched, where and when could it have been A flea market find, I knew only its approximate age I imagined the possibilities And as I nursed my inebriant friend, I realized that the glass was half empty or half full and I wondered if anyone else had held it during difficult times determining how to process the world in which we live