I look;
The reflection in the mirror.
Somewhere in there,
I am still existing.
I still believe in things
Art. Music. Poetry. Dancing. Love.
Clean sheets. Good hair days. Shoes.
High school.
This face though..?
I don't recognize
Like I did before.
It is perception
without understanding-
It's disconnect.
I know what I'm looking at:
That's an apple, that's a tree, that's a parking lot,
That's me.
Shape of the brows,
Blue eyes,
Long nose, weak chin but
regal profile.
Mess of hair.
I know it's me..
But...
In there?
Under the twenty pounds,
Under the wide hips and roundness;
Expansive roundness.
Round shoulders
round breasts round belly
round and round
the world
round and round
spinning.
I look?
Disconnect.
And I forgive my strangeness.
I forgive the stranger in the mirror.
Anyway,
I try.
What was and what is-
How does one make the points touch?
Like stars in a foreign constellation
Or my thighs.
I use to know
these dots
Freckles and eyelashes.
Spots of toothpaste.
Before and
After.
I look.
After,
I see.
I understand that I do not.
These dots- that touch like strangers at a carnival-
Shoulder to shoulder but isolated
somehow
ignorant on purpose?
I look.
I see.
Same eyes.
Different context.
Spinning, touching, round and
Disconnected. Forgiving
strange skies-
I am still in here?
Somewhere.
Making all the stars touch.
Bridging the round and the gap and the unfamiliar spin.
New gravity.
Blue eyes.
Music. Poetry. Love.
I still believe.
This is a tree.. This is a parking lot...
That is a Joni Mitchell song and
There I am..!
And gone again; A flash of shadow down an alley I think I remember,
Quiet.
I keep looking.
