It wasn’t me in the mirror that morning,
It was someone else, a young girl, doing poorly
to mimic my movements – I continued shaving,
I ignored her, no matter how she tried ineptly
to lift a razor to her chin. I didn’t like complaining:
wasn’t worth it, happened all the time, lately.
In this country, where mirrors were employed,
it was just a common occurrence we all “enjoyed.”
I passed by the government building with mirrored walls
On the way to work. My reflection didn’t want me looking —
But I did, and she was gone. Only blank halls
Without a reflection of me or her walking.
Just light, and the usual Greco-roman styles.
She returned at the next shop window, gasping,
for air, beat up, like she had been in a fight…
Stupid government couldn’t even get mirrors right.
At work, in my tea, I see my reflection
she bangs at the separation between us,
desperate to cross through, a tepid insurrection.
I roll my eyes and leave her to her watery fate.
They will assign me a new face, the corporation…
Or not, because the government is always late.
The reflections don’t stay a day or even two;
What is this great country coming to?
A professional writer, poet, and editor, Anna Schoenbach — recently published in the poem Anthology Primal Elements by OWS Ink — is uprooted and wandering the cosmos, coming to terms with herself in the process. She finds meaning in the darker aspects of poetry and hopes that her contribution captures even a small bit of her feelings. If not, well, the journey is more important than the destination.