In the mirror first I see myself
then the streaks of Windex Mama left behind.
On the third look,
I see her staring back
from another room , the cat under the bed,
the way that picture looks
backwards.
Today is the first time I’ve noticed
that everything is tableau
worth writing down.
In the kitchen I arrange the objects
on the formica tabletop.
Salt and pepper shakers shaped
like Mickey and Minnie, a sticky syrup bottle,
Mama’s plastic plates with the pink rose
in the very center.
Our turquoise vinyl couch
always squeaks when I sit down
and unfold the funny papers.
The cartoons are Black and White,
the blurbs in balloon boxes.
Outside lawnmowers hum,
kids glide by on two wheel bikes.
The summer air is breathing peace.
We have not yet become human metaphors
for mass consumption.
I am no longer certain if I am there
looking ahead
or here looking back.
I see myself in the mirror first
and then the world turned backwards.
