Undoing the Weekend

by Casey Daly

Antonyms hung like posters over the washing machine. Glass shone when the lid was pressed.  Breeze of damp detergent warmed lavender, and beer-stained denim soaked her apartment. The Cup, antique and broken, must have been tossed into the washing machine during the party. Detergent soaked shards in chemical blues, like theEverclear wrapped in indigo headache lights on the coffee table. She felt the dizzying blush of Friends when the fraternity boys hung their coats, the Gag reflexes recurring of tequila shots, warm Tropicana, cherry Ricola. Her nose bled coldly over the glass. She scooped its glittering patterns into a plastic cup. In therapy, there was a metaphor. Apologizing to a broken vase could not assemble theJigsaw of broken bits. Intelligent Kids fathom jagged beach glass softening with time and lake water. Lemon, Rolling Rock, Neptune-colored glass colonized the windowsills of kitchens. Last May she weaved detergent-blue beach glass into jagged wire, Noting the edges of jewelry trapped under the pink of her hands. It hurt creating art that wouldOnly unravel itself as the seasons peeled themselves away from the sky. Primitive is the nature of gems to catapult themselves from twisted captors. It hurt Quite like picking glass, which became caught in the gamma waves of her thumbprint. Resourceful women know that parties have sharp consequences. Saturn’s rings of china fell apart like paper in dreams. Its oceans were trapped under sheets.  “To live is to watch it all come undone,” somebody should have written. Understanding this would be the first step to living. No one mentioned that the watery lips of Venus’ shell would clamp themselves back down together harshly. It has been decided that Women will crack their own ribs open once they become tired of being kept. Their Xanax, lip gloss, and sewing needles regurgitate from their floral bags onto the sink.  Years, pressure, cycles, created a pinpoint in which glass was picked from damp clothing. OnceZero shards remained in the washer, she folded a drier sheet
back to University & College Poetry Prizes