Fragile

I buy cheap wine in jugs with the loop
at the top for your finger. I drink it
out of cheap glasses that come in packs
of four for three dollars so that when one
breaks, which it will when it taps the edge
of the sink or you scrub it too hard with a brush,
you’ll have three more left to do it again.

But the finest glass I’ve had, I found
in the thin strip of grass by the street.
It was thick and simple, sexy and heavy.
I drank more wine after that, but it
was still cheap wine. I married her
to common blood and it killed her.
She burst her hip against the sink one day,
just slipped out of my hand. She rang
like a bell for just a moment,
and she didn’t even bleed.