Reunion

In dull half-dawn
I hear mice scamper.
My tabby, Paramedic,
stirs like wind around my feet.
Recovering from disquieting dream,
I rise to dress, yet do not find my shoes.
I move closet clutter to uncover
dust-covered Reeboks,
white comfort lost to heaps
of scrapbook and nylon carry bag.
Then, reaching for Reebok,
I am shocked by languid glint
emanating from shoe hollow.
I find a mirror on ragged Scholl--
on a pad inserted long ago.


Paramedic softly purrs
while rubbing up against me.
I seize one oval oddity
(this mirror out of nowhere)
with mild trepidation,
hold it in my palm,
weigh anxious possibilities.
As dawn disposes tired night,
I struggled with my wits,
feel smooth of silver on my skin
(for it is framed, albeit thin),
and look to notice, only briefly,
a refection I can recognize,
an image that is me.

Yet just as fast I fade like steam;
new faces then appear.
Reluctantly as first,
as if a power drain
or if restraint
was part of code extant.
They relate with confidence,
an aunt I knew, an uncle
on a farm, a great grandfather
wearing black, seated in a Model-T.
I feel the rush of space.


40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
9-8-14