Reflections on Reflections
In spring, one sees self less clearly;
tries to remove the clutter, tries to wipe the eyes.
Green migraine. Rushing water from snow caps
de-stills every puddle.
We bought a new mirror to let the light in.
Now I see myself while writing, now
I close my eyes while writing. In spring,
everything awakens. Sight line from
the stamen of the tulip to the flit and
lilt of bees in morning.
I’m reminded of the mirror, no bigger
than a lark, hung at eye-height to remind,
to remind.
This poem was the collision of three images:
We did a get a new mirror and now I find myself seeing myself a lot more. It’s a strange phenomenon to see yourself in a room you know well for the first time.
Mirrors always remind me of one of the intro scenes in True Detective Season 1 where Rust Cole gets up from a mattress to look at a small eye-shaped mirror at eye-height - a reminder that he exists.
The waterfall above.
I was thinking about how certain times of year it becomes naturally easier to see reflections due to puddling, light, ice, etc. - the rush of spring is not one of them - at least here.
Green Migraine is a reference to a poetry collection by Michael Dickman.
Thanks for reading.