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traloi
member
ID 17987
12/16/2006
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Reflections
Looking for myself,
I creep from one reflection to the next.
I stare; I see
suggestions of my son, my granddaughter.
I'm not there,
though if I should bend this way, and this
couldn't I curve back to the place
where the first mirror surely held me
in perfect, infinite, loving regard?
I'm drawn to any gleaming surface
-the polished floor, a silver horn,
windows in a revolving door.
They're never right, never
that milk-blue light I'm longing for.
Often I'm only smudges,
or scattered by cracks;
but I'm there at least,
I've some hold on the ground inhabited
before I found out what I lacked,
and what the mirror did.
And what the mirror
did.
Carole Satyamurti
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