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Virgil Suarez

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At the Glassblowers’ Convention the Glassblowers Meet Their Match

The pros have gathered around a man
who claims he eats nothing but the finest
blown glass. He prefers marbles, well-made,

swallows them like grapes, a king’s ransom,
but he can also eat any type of glass. The men
become jealous because it is one thing to make

the glass orbs, breathe life into the glass,
but another is to consume it without risk.
When the man crunches, they fall silent,

hearing the black molars grind the glass.
Everyone at this year’s convention will remember
such a man. How he will return home

to his wife and children, turn off the lights,
pick at his teeth with a toothpick-thin splinter,
belch by the moon-lit pool, and a fine dust

glitter will float out of his mouth like rain.
Some men feed from the work of others, live
well by it, live better, some men can never

understand the appeal of simple things like glass.
For the man who eats glass, this is a life-long 
hobby, a passion like any other. He simply

likes the attention, likes to show off his skill.
A lightbulb here, a chandelier’s leaf, a cup –
such hunger is next to godliness, grace, so it goes.

In such times, lacking a god, he is still happy.

 

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