Spilt Milk
In a split second I hit the glass.
To be sure of my action I close my eyes.
As if only for a moment to leave my body in search for a more perfect
existence.
The fluid source of substance glides without effort.
All attempts to stop the course it has chosen to take me on fail.
I am powerless to predict or even control the most simple of disasters.
Realizing this I just let go.
"Do you love me?" I never asked.
There was no response.
"Could you love me?" I needed to know.
Again there was no answer to be found.
It's easy to avoid being burnt if you never stick your hand in the fire.
Out of desperation I sought the scapegoat of distraction.
I listen to the dogs move through the forest, their repetitive barking
tells me of the imaginary animal they have been chasing for hours.
I am with them.
I feel the potentially sour fluid of life move under my touch.
In that second the weight of existence poured over my thoughts.
The anger I felt over the spilt milk was nothing compared to my tears.
--- by James Magro, Texas Tech University (
geocities.com/soho/square) (
geocities.com/soho)