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The Mirror

by Rachel Tramonte


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.