Reflections in a Steamed Mirror

REFLECTIONS IN A STEAMED MIRROR

I was in the shower, surrounded by steam,
in the warm, impenetrable wet
that I require, when I remembered
the excursion of your hand
on my skin, the idea
of family that you embodied,
the strength of the pull
that brought us together,
still intact,
like a city beneath the earth
that never prospered.

I can still recall the exact moment
when we met,
when we were young,
and so very different.
And I probe that moment
like a child with a lost tooth
until I am exhausted
by what-ifs and might-have-beens.

I watch the moments of ours lives together
take shape as the objects in this house,
and I can feel the fullness
of our time, the orchestration
of our bodies as they cascade
the quiet distillation of your essence,
filling this space with breath
different from my own.

What was and what might have been
evolved into what is.
Changes wrought by actions,
actions brought on by changes,
we each added our own ingredients,
and neither read the recipe.

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Shared in response to a prompt using the word 'mirror,' from those colorful poets over at DVerse.

©2009 Christopher Reilley 

Reflections in a Steamed Mirror appeared in Grief Tattoos, which is out of print, Kindle edition HERE.

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