Again And Again
It’s like being in a carnival
Staring in a mirror, fractured
Into dozens of parts.
All me, but different.
My reflection… sort of.
“What is this?”
“It’s a movie!” one reflection says.
“Of what?”
“Your sequel.”
I stare at my face, duplicated
dozens of times. They are all
Of varying ages.
“Honey, just watch,” a wrinkled hand touches
my wrist gently.
“Who are you?” I ask, alarmed
at the wizened visage staring
back with dull eyes.
“I’m you. Several lifetimes ago.”
“How old are you?”
“Now? Or when I died?”
“When you died.”
“Ninety-eight. Stroke.”
I turn to another face.
My face, but different.
She doesn’t wait to be asked,
but smiles and introduces herself.
“Bethany. I died at 26. I was shot after
hiding black people in my basement
during the Civil War.”
A baby cries in the theater, its
voice echoing in the pre-show
quiet. I turn my head to find
the source, but the lighting is
too dim.
The older lady taps my arm.
“That is Leisel. She died
on the Titanic.”
“Why does everyone have a
different name?” I ask.
“We are all you, but from a
different life. Different parents,
different choices, different names.”
“But how different? Let me see
your eyes,” I say.
The older lady grins and allows
me to grasp her face and turn her
towards the meager theater light.
Then I see it: one brown eye
and one blue eye.
I swivel towards Bethany.
“Yes, me too. We all do.”
“The baby?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I stand up and look around.
All the faces I can see have minor
changes in hair and age.
But the eyes are all the
same: heterochromatic.
A hand raises up five or six
rows back. “You might be interested
to know that our eyes got me burned at
the stake during the Salem Witch
Trials. They thought I was evil
because of them.”
I wonder if we have anything else
In common.
I turn and face the theater.
“Married?”
About a third of the group stand.
“Children?”
About a fourth stand.
“Enjoys swimming?”
Most of my replicas stand.
“Anyone write?”
The entire theater stands.
Just then the lights turn completely off
and the screen comes to life.
It is another reflection of me.
The hair is slightly different.
As the face turns away from the laptop
she is typing on, she smiles and we all see it:
One brown eye.
One blue eye.
Here we go again.
