Reflections in Silver by JaxMyth


I

You could smell the dead
when the stone was rolled away.
My father rose inside me,
took my hands and head
and turned me to the echoes
reflected by the mirror's face,
"Welcome back!" they said.

II

Mirrors,
placed opposite in rooms
reflect to infinity,
reflect on the emptiness of,
on the fullness of

infinity.

III

I do not like to walk along the shopping strip
because the Butcher's window holds my father's face.
He mirrors my expressions, apes my curling lip
and always leaves me questioning his sense of place.

IV

Mirrors,
should be buried with the dead.
The dead should have one large mirror in their hands.
They should have small mirrors placed on their eyes
We should see ourselves
in the dead.

The dead can hold us tightly in their hands.
The dead can hold us in their eyes.
We can be made of silver.

The dead
are thin skinned and silver.
Their eyes and tongues are silver.

Mirrors
are silvered and thin skinned.

The skin of death is thin and is of silver.

Death can always be found
in a mirror.

Mam's Best Broach (revision -- 10/04/07)

Dragonfly – your topaz dazzles
like a yellow winged darter
hovering over reminiscence.
Camouflaged in amethyst
you settle on her plum jacket,
wings recalling fairies from
her bed-time tales; they frolic
amongst lavender and marigolds,
dancing in my dreams.