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.