Glass Flower

Glass Flower

for Nancy S. Robinson (1950-2009)

“Be careful with me;

I am fragile.”

A friend of mine

was an artist.

My favorite piece

she constructed out of

the fresh wreckage

of automobiles,

not yet swept away

by the street cleaners.

She would go every day

with her tiny broom

and dust pan

and sweep up the pieces

of shattered glass

into a large, clear bowl.

It took weeks.

She probably had the remnants

of forty car wrecks

before she could begin.


She sifted through the gravel

to unearth the glass.

The darkest was brown,

from window tinting, or dirt,

sometimes from blood stains–-

she used this glass

for the soil.

From the greenish variety,

just barely tinged--

like someone had whispered

the idea of color

into its ear–-

she fashioned a stem.

And from busted break lights

the petals emerged.

The flower’s center

was the thing that made it:

broken bits and pieces

of shattered side

and rear-view mirrors,

where a hundred thousand lives

had been reflected

before.

Out of the grime

and rocks

and twisted metal

left on busy streets

rose a thing of beauty–-


so elegant

and so delicate–-

that when the sunlight hit it,

the colors exploded

like dry lightning,

like a firework

suspended against the night.


And it was almost blinding,

the beauty

it became.

**

I have done several versions of this poem since Nancy died, in a car wreck, on November 18, 2009.  I am not 100% sure I am finished with it, but it's as close as I'm going to get for quite some time.  The lotus tattoo I am getting next month is partially inspired by Nancy, partially by the sculpture mentioned in this poem (which a male friend of mine actually made), and partially by a few other things I won't get into at the moment. 


I still have not finished my May prompts (two more left!) but I will get to them soon.  However, I have been working on this one, and I wanted to share it.

april 16 . sushi rumination

smoked salmon sashimi

tender and moist

falls apart

in my mouth, and
i lower the chopsticks
to savor the taste,
sweet, and salty, and soft,
sliding around my tongue
and down my throat.

i feel less human,
wanting to devour
this raw fish--

so close to life,
this little death that feeds me.

**
So, I haven't had time to write all weekend because my best friend/"brother" Tom was in visiting from Baltimore.  And sometimes, priorities just don't include writing.  But I'm back and working on catching up... though this will probably mean a few short poems.  Hope everyone's weekend has gone well!


-Lindy