The Fall I Didn’t Catch

I saw the glass cup hesitate—then slip

slow arc against a kitchen wall so grim.

My fingers twitch but don't quite grip;

waiting for sound’s sharp final hymn.

The crash—sharp shards like scattered stars,

a quiet kitchen emptied of its calm.

I sat still, framed by cracked linoleum scars,

breath caught, frozen in a muted psalm.

No hero here, just one who stalled,

someone who watched a moment drop,

unmoved by glass that splintered and sprawled—

a silence where action should have popped.