The Crystal Glasses

I started drinking again: coffee in the morning; white wine at night.
I started eating too: toast and marmalade, 3 times a day.
I started sleeping as well: a cat curling up into a ball of and on strobe eyes.
I started to dream: of kissing.

1.
First milk, then rice milk, then goat milk, then almond milk: in my coffee, sil vous plait.
No wine, no thank you, yes, now yes, of course, the glass is crystal
I mopped the floors and licked my fingers
and played them like electric cherries
magenta

2.
One slice, oh yes, another, with butter?

3.
At first the rain was an excuse
but after the sun changed clothes
My eyelids were still drenched
the laundry was slowly drying
in the humidity, the garden was


I cleaned the glasses and arranged them neatly in front of the mirror. In the morning I found them drying in the sink again.
I had forgotten they belonged in the glass cabinet built into the wall. The display of small white cups and metal objects went victorian, like a dollhouse parlor. Each one was a lady china standing with full skirt open ready to be flipped and tickled by thick mustaches.

This home sounds of mother in the kitchen, father sucking at his tooth. I remember the days of waiting and feeding history. I thought
for all the love
for all the love
I'm still speechless at the train station
holding an umbrella above my head
like hand over mouth
the clear blue sky searching
for my scalp

the weather man said there would be rain, eventually
gripping white knuckle to black handle
gold to palm
(the preacher kisses his wife and children
and puts his shoes on upside down)

4.
If I knew how
I would like to
walk in the mud, with fresh pink lips