Who Looks Back From the Mirror?
Who looks back from the mirror? Some days, it is the Green Lantern or Flash, Superman, Wonder Woman or Batman. A child dreams potentials, sees prospects and wears possibilities.
Who looks back from my mirror? Some days, it is a weary grandmother but others, a wise woman learning to write poetry. Perhaps it might be easier to own my dream if I wore a costume that said, “I am a poet.”
Everyone would see it and know. “Oh! This is who you are.” For now, it is enough, for me to recognize that a poet is who I am, deep inside.
But, what would a poet’s costume or attire be? Open heart, acute observation and attention to details, skilled use of imagery, metaphor, precise descriptions of sights, sounds, tastes, smells, touches, and tools, pencil and paper, over it all a gifted resonance with the world, as a way to understand the world and others. All very abstract; well, most of it.
Perhaps the real ensemble of the poet consists of jeans, birkenstocks, field guides, a heavy thesaurus, a heavier dictionary, paper, pencils, a faded pink shirt faintly fuzzed with cat fur and a curiosity so large it could be worn as a cape … a cape which invites the whole world into its folds. Perhaps.
I’ll work on it.