Tonight's Poet Corner: Glass
Glass by Belinda Roddie Her grandmother had a glass eye - spiderwebbed blue, arching light across the diameter of the living room. I was reminded of The Tell-Tale Heart; suddenly, with a murderer, I empathized. That eye lingered like a broken sapphire lost in an aging, gray ring of a face. All fragmented. All battered by time. Cracks disturbed from slumber across her lips and brow. Lopsided nose and chin to finish the cubist portrait. Perhaps I was being far too cruel. For she was not made of glass, yet how fragile she appeared. For she had lost her real eye in a basement long ago, after her angry father had lost his mind over a dry bottle. The neck of that, too, had been shattered. Screams palpitating. Heartbeat screeching fire. Half her vision lost, but memory seared like an engraving on soft gold fingers. I suppose that's why the glass eye looked as if it had fallen, ground into the floor by a boot, and beaten with a hammer. After all, not even a pre
