Lifting the glass of iced tea to lips
parched by lack of love, I stare
through translucent amber brown,
color of your eyes. You

might think, having read reams
of forlorn phrasings in the poetry
of my past, that I will say next
that I love you. On another day

I might. But instead, as soon as
I swallow, I intend to tell you to drop
your pompous pretense of power, shed
“safe” façade that chokes you now.

Wake up, damn it. Extricate
yourself from lie of a life that
robs you of true fulfillment,
completion at last of what

has taken an eternity to reach.
How can you so easily forfeit
what even you acknowledge
with your eyes, if not your words?

It is true that I have loved you
for your fidelity, unflinching loyalty
to a cause. But to watch you now,
shrinking, resigned to obligation,

relying on appearances, position that
has significance only in the common
collusion of others pretending, too—
Damn you. I throw my glass against

the wall. Beads of tea soak through carpet,
like love you’ve made invisible. Crystal goblet
splinters like me, reduced now and shattered but
reflecting still rainbow of love’s possibility.

© 2002, Dawn Richerson

Art: Digital Designs by Dawn, Copyright 2002