I didn’t mean to let my fingers slip.
I had my life gathered in salt-stained glass jars,
laced with coffee-grind drifters and blood-thrifted stress.
I’m standing in shatters I haven’t swept,
lost in sharp seas with no land in sight.
Please slow down.
No one can hear over rippling glass waves,
and I think my voice was the first thing to drown.
Can I have a moment to steady my feet?
I didn’t mean to lose my grip—
Was it salt-stained glass jars, or just fault-stained me?
Was the world made for healthier minds,
for stronger souls and more capable kinds?
I’ve forgotten to sweep the glassy sea,
and I’m so tired I’ve forgotten to sleep.
If the jar hadn’t broken, I may have first—
I am storm-fractured pottery that melts in this sun,
breaks in this pressure,
and chips on these rocks.
Please slow down.
I will sweep the glass from the floor
and the sweat from my hands,
but while I am fumbling in this fog,
please be patient with my pace.
Cindy Green is a forest-wandering, poetry-scribbling stargazer with messy notebooks and messy thoughts. Despite her love for all of God’s creation, sunflowers and stars in particular have a way of sneaking into both her writing and her heart (but you won’t hear her complaining about it). She is an amateur sword-wielder with a Highland-dancing warrior spirit who also writes letters to the moon and considers the sky her best friend. A focused daydreamer, organized pack rat, and oblivious observer, she is a self-professing ambivert (or a living contradiction) who deeply feels both the beauty and fallen state of the world. Through her words, she hopes to describe the indescribable and form personal connections with people while reflecting a love for her Savior and a passion for everything she touches.