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Monday, March 14, 2016

Among the Mirrors

Winter mornings of my childhood
The warmest place in the house
Is my parents’ empty bathroom

The vent beneath the sink there
Roars out hot air
Thawing me from the feet up

Above the sink are three mirrors
Behind them all the products
Which scent the room

The two side-mirrors are on hinges
And can be pulled in
To reflect one another

As I lean in among the mirrors
My bent body echoes into infinity
Like a flesh question mark

Enter my big brother
To snare my ear between thumb and forefinger
Give a tug and say

“Those mirrors will make you blind!”

Enter my mother
To kiss the crown of my head
And with her softness ask

“Do you hear the birds?”

And now I do hear them
Just outside the window’s shades
Interrogating the morning

1 comment:

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