Reflections

A short poem on Identity

I find myself, inexplicably, looking into the mirror.

The polished glass shows a perfect portrait of imperfection, 
a dense array of blemishes cropped into a rectangle and hung on the wall of a house. 
A house filled with hundreds of other mirrors: 
trinkets and clothes and tools and memories that reflect either 
who I've set out to be 
or who I believ…