A Complaint

Has a glassmaker set up shop in my ribcage?
My thorax is not zoned for that.
Though in perfect health, I choose my steps as carefully
as an invalid. I can feel something fragile lodged in my chest.
A shock could upset it. It could spill,
like an egg cup supporting a soft-boiled egg
or a brimming wineglass. If I had to guess, I'd say
that it is valuable and hard to replace.

Any carelessness or inattention will cause it to break.
And then what would I be left with? A few fragments,
like puzzle pieces, stored in a kitchen drawer with the intention
of gluing it back together some afternoon should I find the time.
I'd have that, and my consciousness of the loss of it.

(June 22, 2005)