Mirror Face

By place9011, August 30, 2019

 

Bars across the mirror 

partially obscured his face

 

he looks older, weary, wary

battered but not defeated

 

expecting another blow

gives no hint recognition

 

of a brute in an enemy uniform

a hard man paused for provocation.

 

So I have a history of wars and slavery;

he’s no innocent.

 

He glances over my shoulder

I turn to see what he sees

 

an empty hallway

dimly lit, silent but for a muted click

 

of a door closing.

I turn back and he’s gone

 

in a place no longer his

a scorched desert ranges

 

swallowing its horizons.

Well into its distance

 

two emaciated vultures 

struggle across it on iron feet 

 

one turns to look, face too distant 

for clarity, raises a wing

 

in acknowledgment no doubt ironic.

What briefly seems like my right wing goes up alike.

 

Surely not mine; a mirage,

a hint of impossible awareness.

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