Glass vases

Crystal clear,
like a drop of rain,
like a vase of glass.

The vases are lined up,
but what happens when one falls?
When the glass breaks
and the colors spill out in ridged lines?
You can’t sort them anymore.

White tinted love,
red the sharp edge of a corner,
orange your neighbor’s smile,
indigo the lullaby at the king’s deathbed.

The rainbow glows.
I am waiting for it to illuminate me.

The fortune wheel of colors

My pet bunny dies.
The colors spin through me,
like a fortune wheel.
Each emotion stranger than the last.

I walk into the room of shelved glass.
My almond-wide eyes scan vases,
pupils widen,
iris narrows.

I pick up the glass shaped body
and observe how tinted emotion
is trapped inside its form.

Spikkel

My hands leave my body,
catching the train to headquarters.

Opening drawers,
searching for the right file,
between the corn of the labyrinth.

My hands grab the thick folder
labeled “How do I feel right now?”

The pencil sharpens
and marks: dead bunny,
indigo.
Noted.

My hands shut the drawers,
reattach to my arms,
and shelf the glass.

Now,
I tear.

I walk out of the room
to bury my dead bunny.

Spikkel.