Lee Potts
NOT UNDERSTANDING GLASS
The kid with a skylight
above his bed can’t fall
asleep, eyes wide, certain
he’ll see all the worthy souls
start rising into the Rapture,
terrified that his won't be called
up to join them. There
are angels hiding from God
inside mirrors, smoking and fantasizing
about being one of the fallen. Broken
bottles are invisible between
rocks in a stream, like secret
creatures bound to an old deity
of edges, waiting to offer
up the blood of anyone
crossing. To get
to my family out on the patio,
when I was a toddler,
they didn’t see,
I shoved the storm door
until the pane cracked
around my wrists, almost
cutting a nerve, almost making
my left hand useless.