I am glass
by Frances Davis
I am an old mirror
Rusty from decades of use.
My edges are worn, and my sides are rusted
Blotched with the curse of time
I once held the image of elegance
But now my surface is marred
I am impossible to see through.
I am a window
In a long abandoned house
Made from the earth.
I am slightly distorted
Worn thin
But unique in my own way.
I am an elegant glass,
Perched precariously at the edge of a table.
I seem sturdy enough to raise to one’s lips
But one push
Can shatter me.
All it takes is a tiny tremor.
Rusty from decades of use.
My edges are worn, and my sides are rusted
Blotched with the curse of time
I once held the image of elegance
But now my surface is marred
I am impossible to see through.
I am a window
In a long abandoned house
Made from the earth.
I am slightly distorted
Worn thin
But unique in my own way.
I am an elegant glass,
Perched precariously at the edge of a table.
I seem sturdy enough to raise to one’s lips
But one push
Can shatter me.
All it takes is a tiny tremor.