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.
