In the dressing room-
Mirror upon mirror,
Folded just right,
Creating a continuum
Of dimensions in which
I stand in silent observation,
Am I the man I see
(Or wish I saw)
Or am I merely A man-
Like any other?
Over time I dissolve,
My vision shattering me
Into the parts that
Make up my body-
The veins on the back of my hand,
The knuckle dislocated, offset
By some long-forgotten
Trauma ignited by an impotent rage
At not having the right words-
The brown in my eye that reflects
The look of a father who gifted
Me this, and nothing else.
The creases that time has carved
In my smile-
A testament to the unforgiving
Desert sun’s ability
To break me down-
To the heart’s inability
To ever truly forgive,
Let alone forget.
Am I not greater than the sum
Of these parts?
I am all that the mirrors
Reflect upon themselves,
The testament to
What air and heat and gravity
Have imposed upon me.
But within the blood
coursing beneath
The skin, lives every song
That broke me, every poem
That fractured me,
Every sunrise I waited up
For, to tuck me in,
Every ocean wave that
Moved my small
insignificant self
Along the grainy
unforgiving strand,
Every kiss that destroyed me,
In the most perfect of ways-
And in those I am not
Merely a man-
I just Am.