Green Hills Literary Lantern

 

 

 

The Cracked Vase

 

knows he’s wrongly made. Water seeps through

his wound leaving a shameful puddle.

Though holding drab flowers is his only value,

his blooms are all dying—sadly befuddled.

Yet, his deepest wish he will not give up—

to stand next to cutlery or crockery

like any ordinary glass or coffee cup,

but filled with a martini or daiquiri.

He heard his fissure crack with an audible clink

and widen into a life-ending schism.

It happened while he proudly stood next to the sink.

He went to pieces—all splinters and prisms.

The gray light from the dingy windows above

flits through his glass shards making brief rainbows.

 

 

Civilized

 

As she pushed her glasses down to halfway

past her nose’s bridge, with a pinky gently

crooked while her palm so incidentally

touched her mouth, her eyes said what she had to say:

“My peering over my wire-framed lenses

as my lips, pursed with thoughtful judgment,

declares only your absence will cleanse

me of (what’s that word) our taut enmeshment.”

On loudly hearing what need not be said

my eyebrow lifted upward to the right

and, I, refusing to dissect a love grown dead,

smiled my smile, that is more weak than slight

and she, after a philosophical shrug,

rose and gave me a stiffly formal hug.

 

 

 

Marc Tretin is a retired attorney who often appeared in Family Court to defend those accused of Juvenile Delinquency, child neglect or abuse or failure to pay child support. His wonderful wife supports his artistic endeavors.