Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Tanka of lack of shadow awareness
looking in mirror
do I see light and shadow
or a false angel
what’s the source of distortion
the glass, my lens, or my mind
This morning, about 18 hours ago, I engaged with a few simultaneous thoughts in the sentient semi-dreamy hypnagogic space. Recent experiences that I wrote about here and likely won’t show up in Paper Poetry until after this, and two others coalesced in my mind, like perfectly churned vanilla ice cream with fudge and caramel swirls. If and when Carolyn Hastings accepts it, I’ll edit and add the link for more context. Here it is.
For now, I wish to share the following with you. Three years ago, my oldest and best friend suggested that I read A Gentleman in Moscow. Soon after, I happened to visit a Barnes & Noble® bookstore while visiting Boston from New Hampshire to tour college campuses with my pride and joy, Sofia, who took the train up from NYC. I purchased it and the book sat in my anti-library until a few weeks ago when I saw that someone made it into a mini-series starring Ewan McGregor, streaming on Paramount+®. I started reading it shortly thereafter, and dove in with earnestness last night.
