Today I was talking to my best friend from high school about a trip we took to Watkins Glen and Corning Glass Museum. There were six of us on that trip, plus her mother who was driving. My friend, Hannah, didn’t remember the details. I remember we were exchanging AFS students. I’d just hosted a Japanese girl for a week and it seems that we were picking up my classmate and potential AFS student, Dan Lloyd. But who the other exchangees were, I neither of us remember. Possibly I have those details wrong.
Later this morning I had a nice chat about writing, publishing, books, and characters with my hair stylist. In an hour my writing group is meeting. All in all, a day full of books, writing, and words.
I believe this was my first published poem, in the journal Voices International. It was inspired by the trip to Corning and someone else along on that trip.
In the Glassworks
Row on shimmering row of bottles
stood silent, glazed guard
while I dared not breathe
amidst the burnished vials and goblets.
Glintily he shadowed me,
shattering the fragile world around us
into multi-colored shards.
And I could feel the glass melt,
sense the heat
from the glass-blower’s torch,
and I could hear wind chimes
as from behind he sighed in my hair.
And in the dancing prism lights
voice thin as spun glass
and no one heard,
no one was witness
but the row on glimmering row of bottles.