heirloom

Issue 6

Your mother’s glass. The only one in the cabinet that
does  not  match  the others.  It’s  beautiful.    Purple
 
crystal  scattered  on linoleum  like   a layer of fine
mauve  dust.  The  first  tear  falls  from  a  thousand
 
fractured faces, glistening in the sun. Birds turn
dirges  in  the  late  autumn  air, as  you push  slivers
 
into the dustpan—the vision of her soft hand around
the  glass  fades  with  each  reluctant  sweep.  Tears
 
pool in your eyes and you wonder why she gave you
such maladroit arms, sun-spotted and  shaky.  Or
 
a brain wired to prefer the taste of Diet Coke in a
glass over ice, just as your mother did.  Shards clink
 
in the trash, your tears race them to the bottom. The
​lid  closes  in  a  soft  thud—the  birds  stop  singing

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C.W. BRYAN is a student at Georgia State University. He lives with his clowder of cats (the best to ever do it) and girlfriend in Atlanta, GA. He is currently writing daily poetry prompts with a friend of his at poetryispretentious.com. He is published at the Deep South Magazine and Door is a Jar Magazine and has 6 poems forthcoming at El Portal, Field Guide Magazine, and the Seventh Quarry Press.

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