you don’t know me I don’t know you; poems on a mirror I ken truly well
poems on the mirror saved, and then, comme the seasoning of leave-falling, poems dropping and drained...the post-it glue loosened by the daily heat of watery tears, making a space for this one, for you...
there are poems and they arrive with fresh arrogance, each an arrow demanding your all as a target regardless of what the shooter really thinks or wants, other than obedient acknowledgment and their self-loving flattery
but some render where no rendering should be allowed
those are the ones affixed - ones you chose to join the chosen, slapped onto mirrors - so many that they almost cover complete your image from presentation
almost only because these poems are yours, you, they’re the truly accurate reflection even if not your words, indeed especially because they’re not yours
but they start your day as a poem should and in doing so, become you
What a Hall of Fame, to be a poem on Glenn’s Hall of Mirrors
go pick the plums...
“Glenn Currier to Valerie Burroughs
“So true. So beautifully put. This is one I will add to Poems on my Mirror. Literally. I am going to copy and paste it or just write it on a post-it note and put on my mirror as a reminder of what poetry should be. Thank you.”