Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

In the Mirror

gathering speed, she makes her way
to the mirror, nodding yes, self-possessed
she waves to her image

she was her own whole world
wrapped in the brazen myth
that she existed alone

a second look
her eyes deepen with a discovery
the mirror reflects other things

primitive slow motion
the walls, her dresser, her bed,
the bird on the tree branch in front of the window

the shadows lingering on the bed
hers and the man’s who left
in the weak gray light before dawn

the bird starts to sing, its song chaotic
contralto, a requiem
pushing out the night

transfixed, she stares in the mirror
now a witness to bird songs
and many other reflections besides her own


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Prompt:Virginity, or loss thereof