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You are the mirror
Sitting on the sunroom floor
On its back, tipped by the cat
Each piece still held
By the thick walnut frame.
You love, who knows why, 1952.
You held on to your bachelorhood
That mirror and the chest like a champ.
Wouldn't let the old dresser, that stag
Or its attachable mirror go, and now
It's cut into odd pieces as though God clicked
The whole thing out with a glass cutter
And left it for a mosaic of us. I'm like you too.
I won't let go of what I think should be new.
I've got a board, faceted gems, broken blue
Teacups, grout, industrial glue.