Mirrors I 
My old house came with an art deco mirror; 
spotted with age, losing its silver backing. 
It leaned elegantly against the basement 
wall, elegant and fragile like a snowflake 
that could melt or if cold enough, keep shape. 
Each time I descended into the basement, 
I would look like a ghost had inherited my body. 
My eyes were not mine, my mouth thin, 
and my hair flowing as if I held a static charge.
 
 
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