glass in the air

You know how when you are holding a casserole dish, or a wine glass (in my case a sparkling cider glass), or a mug or anything glass. Fragile. And then you trip. The glassware slips out of your hand and for a moment you are suspended in time. Waiting. The glass twinkles in the light. You are stranded in motion, waiting for the consequence. Will the glass shatter? You think of your surroundings. Tile or wood or carpet or vinyl? Five foot drop. Four feet? Is there an attempt to catch it? Or would you simply just hit the glass more and further secure its demise.

All you can do is wait. Wait for the silence to end with a shatter or a thud. Either way, you dropped the glassware. Whatever outcome comes, comes because you slipped. Comes because you thought you could hold on to five things at once. Popcorn in one hand. Glassware in another. Your teeth securing a Kit Kat bar. King size. A soda balanced in your armpit and a blanket draped over your head, dragging on the ground.

And this moment of suspension, this moment where your life either goes from an accident to a rough landing or an accident to a shattered attempt at stability, is never ending.

You are stuck until gravity takes hold, ripping you slowly.