Washing My Face
       

Rising to face him, head-on, man-to-man,
above the basin's unreflecting depths,
I stare into the mirror. He's back.

This is the moment, inescapable
to dawn, at least, the moment I come clean.
The day will take me far from this miracle.
Faces I will put on! Mirrors I'll break
so I can't see my tongue twisted to lie,
warping another sentence, just to please!
Or—why not admit it—keep someone distant
that I can remain locked in solitary.

Now, while I shave the night away,
I have these minutes for a small resolve.
Let me remember how clear water tastes
this second, eye-to-eye with what I am.

Tweet

Copyright © 2014 Peter Cooley All rights reserved
from Night Bus to the Afterlife
Carnegie Mellon University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission