Once a mirror forever a mirror—forever a plate
of polished silver lies
and rosy grief. If I look and when I look,
I may never take the time to look
but when I do I know I'll see
not skin but ink.
The rose is for the one who
loved and loved and loved
till she could love no more
and withered away wasted like the wings
of a winter rose. The lies! The lies that
sit inked on my face are whispers from
my mother's grave. She said to me you're beautiful
so I tattooed it onto my face. The mirror! Yes, the mirror.
The mirror lived once in my eyes and when someone
took the time to look
they'd see themselves in silver light
the burning, unflinching, threatening white
light of truth.
But my eyes now are no longer bright. No longer silver
no longer light. They're heavy so heavy with honeyed-tear
glaze but still. If you took the time to look,
I promise you you'll see your face.