These shards of a mirror
once hung above our mantle.
We dwelled there intermittently
until stepping through, you broke it.
Cracked parts of faces passing by,
flashbacks of us, standing.
Abstract shades in impressionist colors;
expressions, shapes of noses, arms
toes entering shoes, the back of
your neck, pieces of our lives--
us, nude or dressed for the theater;
ready for work, closing the door.
The cats played through its time and space
not marring the smiles and smirks and jeers
of visitors who spoke their history in past tenses,
posing such absurd pretenses. Our knowing
smiles became an archway to possibilities.
Days of bright, glittering ambitions;
last checks before work and meetings.
Reflected nights by glimmering votives
when silvered sheets shrouded burning need,
in the mirror passions cooled to glass.
Broken objects now, never aging,
still as the disconnected stereo.
A shelf of cracked memories,
now distorted cubist pieces, just
memories in a gilded frame.
Throwing out the shattered bits
forces recognition of change;
The broken likenesses alter our
reality as well as all my dreams.
(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved