i was looking for

something else,

but i found two mirrors,

buried in bags,

buried in boxes,

buried in a garage.

buried.

one, part of

a fold-up hairbrush.

the other,

a compact to check

her makeup.

i found the compact first.

i don’t think

i’d ever seen it before.

i held it.

i closed my eyes.

slowly.

slowly.

slowly.

i opened it.

i opened them.

i saw me.

i was disappointed.

some more digging.

i found the other mirror.

i have memories of

that one.

it was used

in nepal.

and india.

and greece.

and peru.

and many other places

where she

knew i’d give

her shit for

carrying a full-sized hairbrush.

in my left hand.

folded open with my right.

eyes closed.

slowly.

slowly.

slowly.

i opened it.

i opened them.

i saw me.

i was sad.

neither one

of these mirrors had

seen a face since

hers.

i don’t really know what

i expected to see.

maybe her.

but i had to

remind myself…

these aren’t

like cameras,

preserving an image forever.

they reflect back

a moment.

a moment that doesn’t last.