16 drinking glasses

the first one i broke 
on purpose. it was a winter storm
that lasted weeks.
i watched white pour
from a blazing sky. took one glass
in my hand & hurled it at
the kitchen floor. 
all the little fragments. 
i did not expect it to shatter
so profoundly. my father bought me
the sixteen glasses when 
i moved into my apartment. 
he said, "in case you need
more than one."
i imagined inviting sixteen birds
into my house or sixteen deer
or sixteen voles. each of them
with their little throats.
i filled the remaining glasses
with snow. watched it melt.
turn into private islands. 
it was rare anyone else 
came into my apartment
& when they did we had no where
to sit. i had taken the legs 
off my sofa. we would choose a glass
& float in them. the next five by accident.
hapless nights & unbridled hunger. 
two as sacrifice, pleading for spring.
green came. two more as a thank you.
i don't know what he imagined 
i could do with all the glasses.
all my other dishes
were mismatched. one plastic plate.
three tea cups from a yard sale. 
the next three i wept over
even though it was me
who had executed them. i started
to think of each glass as a person
who might live here too. 
come back. come back. i became
at home in my solitude. painted 
the ceiling with snakes. 
i tried to keep the last ones safe.
i wrapped them in scarves. i never
used them. gazed from afar.
that there, is my family. one by one though
i smothered them. wrapped the glasses
too tightly until they fissured 
& snapped. i took to drinking
from my cupped hands.
people knocked on the door
& i would shout
from the other side
"i don't have enough glasses
for all of us."