The wine bottle fell to the ground,
it shattered and looked just like family.
On my hands and knees I avoided its glass.
And mopped up its blood.

Bending over with an outstretched hand
a father dancing in the grocery store aisle.
I watch and hold the memory like it's my own.

Spilled on the ground in rivers of red
we try to push it back in, but it's gone now.
I'll try to hold tighter next time.