Youth Made of Glass – A Poem

 

Youth Made of Glass

Remembering a youth
made of glass
memories become transparent.
Fear freezes on my fingernails
cuticles of ice
chip away at my morals.

Snowflakes compete for space
fall and melt in
salty puddles that pool

along the side of the road.

Worn pajamas on Sunday
morning
hang empty in the bathroom.
The smell of hot coffee freshly brewed
flutters through the house.
Its warmth slowly submitting to a chill that
bared and clawing
has dragged itself up from the earth.

A time gap grows

illustrious
illusions of distance which roam aimless
in the narrow confines
of the living room
where

a child
listens to an abandoned god over the radio
sing to her of
guardian angels
forsaking their charge.
She sits beautifully alone
thinly wrapped in a blanket of gossamer thread
a vision
reflecting
all my imperfections.

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