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.
