"Glass" by Bethany Griffice

Legend has it if you hold a piece of glass bathed in Gold water you can look in it and see your life in another time.

Afraid to witness its prophetic lifestyle
with glimpses or fragment, you leave
it on a wall and tell yourself eight times
alone with your make believe Pastry chef
or not, is worth one altered memory

But then you meet him. Childhood, busy, squat,
he’s drinking Cola at a sudden race.
Your first idea: Where’s myself? Your second: What
if this is real? You throw red balls at him--
your psycho pain, your O.C.D., your hate
of Maker’s Time.  He doesn’t give the warning,
although to you these fragments show as grim
reminders that you’re smart-- just not enough,
the one piece you can’t get back in the morning.