Saturday, October 21, 2006

Seven Mirrors by Eddie Dowe

Seven Mirrors


I expected to see myself
in the colored stone of the mirror,
in this slim kitchen
still a man, but I cannot be
here, I must be
in the doorway, staring
toward the dawning street,
the light spinning about me
and my arms stretched out
to adjust the angle of my life.


A little girl waits
at my doorstep, in black Chinese slippers
and an orange dress.
She reaches up to ring
and from the mirror of the glass door
she notices another little girl
reaching up to grab her wrist.


This in only one
of the seven
mirrors buried in my yard.


A man balances
on one foot
under the shadow
of a blue hat
a dozen bronze keys stratching
his hand
like the broken glass of a mirror.


The woman in the white slip
asks for a glass of water
and I walk toward my reflection
already leaning over the mirror of the sink.


The bed behind me is a mirror.
My wife lifts her skirt
and removes her high heels.
She makes room for me
under the sheets.


The suit in my closet
hangs like a black man from a tree,
a mirror beneath his feet
and his shoes
two shining leaves.

Eddie Dowe


Anonymous Anonymous said...

hey, in the fourth stanza, did you mispell stratching? from now on, leave a comment if you need to correct a typo and someone will eventually get around to fixing it.

harmony & blessings

Saturday, October 21, 2006 11:47:00 PM  

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