My Mom was an addict.
She left traces everywhere,
and didn’t seem to care
about the pieces she
here and there.
She couldn’t go out without partaking.
A true obsession in the making.
Everyone around her knew.
We kept her secret and never shared
the nitty, gritty details
of her sordid affairs.
You must have seen them,
they were everywhere,
in every shape and size.
There were pitchers, vases,
water goblets, cream and sugar bowls.
Dishes for candy and butter,
and pickles, and relish-yes, even relish.
Endless amounts of ashtrays, punch bowls,
cake plates, salt and pepper shakers, brandy decanters
(she never even drank brandy)
There were special
containers for olives and teeny, tiny
pearl white onions.
Everything you could
imagine was there.
So many patterns refracting the light,
amazing prisms of delight.
Designs of stars, diamonds, crests,
it was a beautiful cut glass world.
Today, as I look around,
I see sparkling reminders of the
light from my mothers eyes,
when she returned home with
another piece of cut glass heaven.
Full of Hope