Chad Davidson
GLASS HOUSES
If you, Cinderella, really walked in glass
slippers, then waltzing would be right
out. One slip and you're in India, dead
to the hordes stumbling over the mirror
shards and broken tea cups. Take Coltrane
in "So What." He too walks on glass
at angles light enough to fire a reed
into the neck and breathe just one more
day in June. Cinderella, why can't you lie
about your foot size? Take Coltrane:
he stops shooting up, we never get that
throwing himself into the sax. You'd startle
like a spark plug if I kept turning over
his "Take the A Train" solo in my head
and bumped you. I hear your brittle
breath, smooth the sheets. They ripple like curses.
The way you feel in glass: even the simplest step
could send each metatarsal through the arrival
of itself, reflected. Even the cackling step-
sisters can't break through your panes,
into rooms with music only you can hear.
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