POETRY April 3, 2020

Tipping Point

Our tree fell when no one was in
the living room. We guessed it was hung
too heavily in the front, and when the heat

began to blow from the vents, the gust
was just enough to tip it all. I have also
felt as if one warm breath might drop me,

but here I am still standing. Here I am
bending down, picking up glittering glass
grains with not quite enough care, hushing

the children and telling them it’s fine,
it’s fine—only a few baubles broken
and can’t everything in the world

be replaced? It can’t, of course, but no
need to admit that here, at Christmas,
with shards of glass in my palm.

Emry Trantham is an English teacher in Western North Carolina, where she and her husband are raising their three daughters. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Tar River Poetry, Carolina Quarterly, Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian Heritage, and Cider Press Review.