Reflections
by Zoe DeVoe
A person’s never had my back
but a mirror always has
Wearing a gown of translucence
an illusion bouncing light back
like a pendulum against a prism
rainbow eclipses made by the eye
My vision tends to lie
Lashes bite down on neurons
who send transmissions that connive
It’s happening
as I rest my hands on the sink
Lean towards the reflective piece
trying to cut out a tongue
wiggling from lips that don’t exist
Transfixed by a face that warps
either better or worse than before
Past versions of expressions
relayed back from recollection
You can’t wash away the memories
You can’t be freed from remembering
The scars stain like birthmarks
Some days they’ll leave a smile
at the corners of your mouth
Other times they’ll pull it down
into a sickening, plunging frown
Either way, they’re stretch marks
and the mirror is a filter
You’re the constellation picker
connecting the dots into a picture.
Author Bio
Zoe DeVoe is an LGBTQ+ author with a passion for poetry focused on love, mental health, and general activism. She also enjoys writing experimental novels and short stories.