The glass of water sat too near the edge

The glass of water sat too near the edge,

a lukewarm weight against the bedside wood.

My elbow caught it like a clumsy wedge,

and I stayed frozen exactly where I stood.

I watched it tumble, slow and strangely bright,

a spinning arc before the sudden thud.

I didn't reach, I didn't try to fight

the way the spill began to seek the mud.

It spread into the carpet, dark and wide,

a silent bruise that seeped into the floor.

It’s easier to let the damage slide

than try to hold the things I held before.