Going Blind
I no longer wonder about the waiter
or whose stuffed bear is framed in a window
high above the bodega. I look away
from the dog walker, the bus driver, the flower
vendor. The hookers, the toothless man who stares.
No neighbor exists to watch me pick my nose,
no one is running for the elevator.
As they recede, I become invisible.
I’m limbless: floating through furniture
in a vacant flat, in a banished city.
.
Reflection
Why call it “the mirror,” not “a mirror?”
Unless they’re all one mirror—wherever you stand,
you see the same face. Unless you’re a vampire.
Vampirism—that might be what it takes
to step out of your own way and appreciate
the towel racks and decorative shelves of your
travels. Now that you’ve given up reflecting, you
squeeze through unimpeded. A calm river could bring
you to the same place. On this side, too, you must drink blood
to survive. Except aren’t you immortal?
Can you get blood from a mirror image?
Questions that cost too much are not worth answering.
Check the window for trees—you might feel
more at ease as a bat hanging from a branch
until it’s time to head home for lunch.
.
Stink Eye Magazine 