Bend me backward—but
this bush holds thorns. You will have to carry me
up the stairs.
Careful now;
do not spill. I am full of slippery ghosts,
and harbor a phantom in my left eye.
If you drop me, I won’t break.
But I will crack, and animals
will leap from me.
If we make it
to the bedroom, don’t set me down. Don’t dare
place a lip upon me.
Merely tip me forward, until I find
my footing; you’ll know when, for a brush of my toe
is enough to split the globe.
