the mirror wouldn’t look at me
The mirror wouldn’t look at me.
I pretended not to care
and ignored her right back
as if neither of us was there.
I learned to move within shadows
and speak softly when others were
talking so no one saw, no one heard,
I was and wasn’t there.
Did the sun see me? I couldn’t tell.
The clouds did, they followed me
everywhere I went.
I breathed them in, white, gray,
black, precipitating or misty,
they were all the same to me.
Other days I rolled in
and out like the fog
and when I lifted, I was certain
everyone was glad I was gone.
In my chest, on my red parted lips,
pumps blood unenriched,
words unspoken, unwritten.
All I have are sighs
and the comfort of night.
So much gets in between
me and meant to be, if there is
such a thing.
I can only long
for the unreflecting mirror
and the blackest clouds
to fill me.
© 2018, A. Breslin. All Rights Reserved