Red Glass

who will we be

when this is over

last night

in the quiet dark

an ornament

of red mercury glass

fired in india sold here

leaped from our cut

and trimmed balsam fir

shattered

into the proverbial

million pieces

on the hardwood floor

we stumbled

down the stairs

in morning to

the holiday cheer

of splinters

shards

glistening

sharp and pointed

illuminated by rays of yellow sunrise

pouring through the grand window

like an indifferent faith

a danger

to the bare

feet of children

the innocent

paws of dogs

and so we swept

the big slices to the trash

vacuumed away the tiny shiny flakes

the last specks of sparking dust

afterward

content

the job well done

we sat worshiping

our coffee and cream

by the comforting LEDs

stared in a mindless christmas reverie

at the remaining baubles

dangling

on a

dying tree