The Mirror Is A Friend
The mirror is a friend
of mine, with blue green eyes
like mine, except for those dark rings
softened by age in a way I can’t
quite relate to. She’s my friend but
Her weariness resents me, for my endless
invitations, late nights with heavy eyes
falling through the page, too lazy to brush teeth
but just had them cleaned and so determined to be
forming habits these days and so under the bright lights
I decide to ask her a question. Do you feel us drifting
away like old friends who always try to tell the truth
to one another but just don’t know the difference anymore?
I find I have no golden answer over and over
again just a cup full of rain water to wash down
My voice hoarse with repetition, and she is smart
maybe to stay out of the clouds, stay grounded
all her layers superimposed, all her history
in the grain of a sheet of plywood unrecognizable
from its origins. I can almost forget
On a plane back to Oregon which way is up
nothing to discern through the window but I can feel
the air dropping out and what a rush it is to be
this foolish. I think of her steady hand and squeeze mine
until the knuckles turn white. She’s my friend and
We’re different in this way, but its okay
I think because she’ll catch me
again when I fall out of the sky, shatter
again into a million pieces, pressed
again into another sheet that all adds up
