Musings on Mirrors

Two poems about mirrors:

I

Behind every mirror is a world that doesn't exist.
An illusion
A world the exact opposite of ours.
Oh how I wish I could go there and leave this alphabet of punishments behind.
My brain so broke it can’t even A.D.D
The seasons making me S.A.D.
My honeycomb body infected with H.I.V.
I want to leave this horrible adult world where C is no longer for cookie but for cancer.

II

Picture a pig's head split down the center.
Picture it resting on a mirror and think.
The reflection makes the pig's head whole again.
The reflection, dependent on the meat, gives the meat the appearance of being complete.
The reflection, degrading and rotting at exactly the same pace as the flesh, mimics it's counterpart in our world.
It is a trick of the light. It is the reversed image of what is here.
I feel there is a similar relationship between the soul and the body.
We are meat on a mirror.
We are steak wrapped around hard bones and animated by electricity.
There is nothing in us to suggest anything like awareness, ego, self.
There is nothing in us to suggest a sense of wonder, of questioning, of faith.
That is our opposite. The greater, invisible, undefinable part of our horrible rotting bodies.
Living on the other side of the looking glass.


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