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