If I lived inside a snowglobe,
I’d want to be placed on the shelf
in your bedroom. Gently put me
next to the unwatered plant, or the dusty
picture frame-us at your sister’s wedding.
I would look out from my beautiful winter
sphere, watch from the sidelines
while you take a boy in your arms,
dance to a song that plays only in your head.
The snow is cold enough to freeze, leave me
as a statue, doomed to stare as you live.
If you picked me up, shook
my world into movement again,
the snow would fall
over my frozen corpse,
I won’t move.
Until you knock me over on the carpet,
curse at the fractured mess,
sweep my shards into your trash.

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