An Untitled Reflection In Question
by Akeith Walters
When did I become these jowls and hooded lids
hanging
over the edge
of the weathered ledge of life,
this lamp-lit image in evening’s mirror
of my mother’s face and my father’s
taped together
like a grainy snapshot on the glass
double-exposed
as if in error?
And have I stubbed the same spot on the barefoot floor
as they did,
as those who came before them,
with those stiff steps and wooden gestures
that frame us?
Do I see what they saw,
this reflection of looking back when looking forward,
and did they too gaze through a moon-glazed window
as another sweat-wet day
lays down to rest
soaked under a blanket
of blue-collar fatigue,
that scratchy cover
which keeps sleep,
like a forgotten lover,
standing hat-in-hand outside the door?
Gyroscope Review 5! 1