Mirrors, in every room, reflect my movements about my home.
Public and private activities noted, one’s fleeting or lingering,
leisurely.
There are blind corners around which I have surprised
a mirror or two. More often I have surprised myself—
alerted to my posture, my attire, a frowning or serious face.
My full gamut of emotions surfaces, unintentionally,
shared in my house of mirrors.
Unlike Walcott’s suggestion to “peel your own image
from the mirror,” I find myself inhabiting this body
costume, with its maintenance requirements.
When something about the lips, the chin, the eyes
combs my attention & appropriately parts it down
through the generations of those who came before me,
I wonder who is showing up through me.
In one mirror or another, perhaps I’ll find that
small space where I am me, a me no one else
can see.
—Martha Ward
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