Spilt Milk


In a split second I hit the glass.

To be sure of my action I close my eyes.
As if only for a moment to leave my body in search for a more perfect
						existence.

The fluid source of substance glides without effort.
All attempts to stop the course it has chosen to take me on fail.
I am powerless to predict or even control the most simple of disasters.
			Realizing this I just let go.

		"Do you love me?"  I never asked.
			There was no response.

		"Could you love me?"  I needed to know.
		Again there was no answer to be found.

It's easy to avoid being burnt if you never stick your hand in the fire.
	Out of desperation I sought the scapegoat of distraction.

I listen to the dogs move through the forest, their repetitive barking
tells me of the imaginary animal they have been chasing for hours.
			I am with them.

	I feel the potentially sour fluid of life move under my touch.
    In that second the weight of existence poured over my thoughts.
The anger I felt over the spilt milk was nothing compared to my tears.


---  by James Magro, Texas Tech University