Broken Mirror

Broken Mirror

This is a poem trying to reach the source of a river,
and about spending your whole life in the eye of a hurricane.

This poem has invisible walls that hold the storm at bay,
and is trying to understand why the heart has to break.

This is a poem about how my mom made me oatmeal
on really cold mornings, and how on Sundays,
my dad made pancakes.

This poem grew up to hate itself for no discernible reason,
it didn’t tell anyone it was raped.

This poem wears disappointment like a brand name,
but refuses to explain.

This poem might explode some day,
but today it slumps in its seat.

This poem thinks it knows everything.
It’s looking for a fight.

This poem has eaten too much when it wasn’t hungry.
Now it wants to bite.

This poem is afraid of drowning.
It’s an alcoholic who only cares about the next drink.

This poem can’t see itself on the surface of the still pool
at the source of the stream.
This poem doesn’t understand anything.

This poem’s been aborted.
It says the earth is almost dead anyway.

A spurned goddess lurks in the caves of this poem.
Her tears are stalactites.

This poem laughs at pilgrims who crawl on hands and knees
to see a stone saint weep.

This poem wants to be slapped in the face.
This poem is so hard not even a diamond chisel
could reveal its gleam.

This poem has been chipped away like The Sphinx.
It doesn’t recognize its own face.

This poem has stones in its pockets as it steps off the riverbank.
This poem thinks it’s a martyr, when it’s really a saint.

This poem begs for love to find it.
Love says there’s no room for me, blame has taken my space.

This poem wants to be blind, to wait in the dark with its antennae
at ease.
This poem wants to feel its way.

This poem is so sharp, you could cut your wrists with it.
This poem is so ashamed.

This poem never thought beauty would look back at her
from the hospital mirror.
This poem shines with grace.