by J.J.Morgan

Created on: April 08, 2009

Grandmother's Mirror

You ask me about the mirror
in my grandmother's bedroom
there now for nearly twenty five
years, longer than I can remember.

I don't know why it bothers me;
long framed, oak thick as the spindles
on the stairway my grandfather built.
The mirror holds sunlight and secrets.

My grandmother smoothes the glass
with cotton and vinegar each morning
before she leaves the room.
I imagine that when
the door closes

old reflections release their secrets
while a gray dawn steals
across my grandmother's
polished wood, the bed where only
one side is rumpled.

Why wonder on the past?
Mistakes forged, a future dreamed of,
a distant pewter outcome. She cannot
know how I would sneak in,
little girl sneakers and faded overalls,
look in the mirror

and see nothing but a flat landscape;
gray reflected outside the window.

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