Spilt Poem by Lee Ann Schaffer

He thinks it’s a good enough bottle.
The softness of the outside,
A luster produced by
Unwitnessed abrasions,
Soul scratches.
Some of the curves are
Pleasing under his fingertips.

The curves are pleased - and so is she.
His heart hands
Handle the vessel with
Tenderness and strength
A combination that only the
Interiors of her mind have known,
The dream she’s slept on every night.

He breaks the seal.
What gushes out is sand and stars
In shimmering showers
Of luminous liquid.
The flood makes a new floor.
Walking on a new water,
He gives it back.

Before she can feel
The weight of the bottle in her hand
He is gone.
Looking inside it,
She finds the emptiness
A sucking vacuum,
Resounding silence.

He is gone.
It is gone.
Sand and star eddies
Swirl around her.
She tries to scoop them out,
Gather them to her,
Save them;

Fluid futility.

She knows
She will have to wait.
Watching and waiting,
Willing the time to pass;
Wait until the water recedes,
Willing the time to pass;
Wait
Until the moisture evaporates,
The stars no longer shining,
The sand no longer sparkling -
After all, it was the wetness
That caught the colors of the light.

When they’re dry,
She’ll sweep them all back
Into the bottle.
Hugging it into her,
She will set out
In search of the source,
The long journey back...

Return to the river.