Wine Glass
by Kierra Coutts
A hunchback.
Shoulders in the form
of a crescent moon.
Spine warped.
I mold to the weight I carry.
The heavy burdens
I have to take
because "get it off your face."
That tear,
that look of pure pain
"Get it off your face."
The weight of the world-
my world supported,
held in place
by the rim of
a wine glass.
I ache.
One crack
for every tear. No trace
of sadness. It's easy
to say things are fine.
Two cracks.
My tone was a bit too loud.
Almost felt something.
Three.
We're not dysfunctional.
We're fine.
Four.
Shards fly
within my chest
tearing me apart
slowly.
You're fine.
Five.
The sweet,
bitter wine
begins to seep
through jagged
cracks.
Six.
Empty.
Seven.
Crushed
by the weight
of my world.
Shattered.
Wine glass,
it's okay. Just get
it off
your face.