The Mirror

my heart looks for you

under handmade afghans…

in the kitchen…

in your seat.

always smoking your

deadly viceroy.

little did i know

they would steal you away.

your son wanted you to

do what you could not:

quit.

so he cut you loose

from his twisted heart.

but not me

i bound you to me

with chains of

suffocating

the mirror...
the mirror…

love.

if i hear your voice

it’s because i speak you,

i move you,

i do you.

it’s how i keep you alive.

“mother, how could you leave me?”

staring back from the glass

you are not really gone.

i am.

One comment on “The Mirror

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