As I push the shower curtain,
Held in place by three chip clips,
Aside with my foot,
I step out into a hazy room
To stand in front of a Mirror.
 
And instead of counting
The years of bad luck that
Seep from all of its cracks,
I focus on the blur of a face
Hiding behind a sheen of fog.
 
I wonder if that blur also has to
Step over nails that stick
Out from the floor or
Make sure not to snag her
Towel on bare electrical wires
In that world beyond the Mirror.
 
I want to ask the blur if the Teachers
At Blur Academy give out
Little golden stickers or maybe
Ones that say, “Excellent”
Or even just, “Great.”
 
I want to tell the blur that my
Teachers do and that I think its
Their way of saying, “Sorry,”
Because they can’t see the
Spores that fill my lungs
Or Mold that lines my stomach.
 
But they can give me stickers.
And that’s okay because I
Line the stickers across my desk,
The one that covers the hole
That the Rats pour through.
 
And sometimes I like to think
That if those Rats see all those
Gold stars that they might think
They’re outside and turn around
And leave my food alone.
 
I’d be happy to give the Blur
Some of my Golden Stars
If the Teachers at Blur Academy
Didn’t have any to give;
Then both of our food would be safe
 
But the Blur doesn’t say anything,
And she soon begins to fade
And so I panic and run to my room,
Not caring if my Towel snags
On those bare electrical wires.
 
I rip star after star off my desk
And run back to the mirror,
But when I get back, the Blur is gone
And there’s only a crystal clear image
Of me staring through those bad-luck cracks.
 
It doesn’t matter though;
I know the Blur will be back.
She always returns when
I push that shower curtain,
Held in place by three chip clips,
Aside with my foot.
 
And when she finally returns,
Those Gold Stars will be waiting.

Forums: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.