by Caroline Prank
I can see why people want to shatter their mirrors.
It's a break in the moment, the illusion, that I'm not really here. That I'm a disembodied body floating through other people's lives. A side character siding with the downsides.
I see it now.
Why the mirror stands as a remembrance of a presence in the present time, Since, I don't not see my disembodied body, And that double negative isn't the only negative to the reflection's name.
It has a name.
It's at the tip of its tongue,
riding bottom lips like the low tide. Screaming our songs to the flickering of the lights. Punching at the glass, till I'm having to hold it up, shaking, but stronger.
Till the forming cracks seem to follow its outline.
And I'm having to hold my breathe for the oncoming tidal storm of its hair, ripping apart what's left of my bathroom counter, and turning my hands into its stone.
While I'm forcing my breathe into my lungs,
and hoping for the buoyancy to lift me. Lift me higher than the tiles, and the shower curtains, and the lighting crack of my celling, till the moon is able to control the storm again.
And I would be free.
Oh yes, I would be free, free of you and free of Oh God, yes, free, spell it out for
I have a name.