The Heavy Glass

The bubble wrap ran out at the toaster.

I’m standing over a box of newspaper

holding this glass thumb, this heavy

green knot of a paperweight she gave me.

I said it was striking. I said it caught

the light in a way that felt like art.

Really, it’s just a rock that glows.

On the bottom, there’s a square of gray

where the price tag used to be.

The glue is still tacky. It picks up

the grit from the floor, the hair, the dust.

I should leave it on the counter.

I should let the new tenants deal

with the weight of things I didn't want.