The Self is Like a Paper Cup
Brandon Cook
They had in my dad’s office one of those glass jugs of water and,
Beneath it,
The coned paper cups which were good enough
For a drink or two, maybe three
Before we crumpled them into the can
Wiping our lips with our long sleeves and sighing
All this I remember because they would tear so easily
Like our own souls
Into which God is always pouring water