the mirroring

ɓuᴉɹoɹɹᴉɯ ǝɥʇ

 

 

In my mom’s eyes
I am Jane Eyre
in the red-room,
any daughter of hers
would be the same,
every mirror she’d hold
would show
a beggar in the rain,
a girl selling matches.

Mom in my eyes
mirrors Jane Eyre
in the pǝɹ-room,
any mother of mine
would be the same,
every mirror I’d hold
would show
a ɹɐɓɓǝq in the rain,
a ๅɹᴉɓ selling matches.

Athens, 2019 -2020

 

© ifyouplease 2020
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critique and comments welcome.
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Bhi

IYP, the duality of being cannot be in doubt.

This is an extremely inventive poem. The sense of confinement, of being locked away and not able to escape the bonds that life places upon us – that is my reading – comes through very well.

Good emotive linkage to Eyre and the red room.

Stormwolf

Deep and intriguing as always Nic. You have such a unique style that always begs further reading because I know every single word is chosen with care. I am reminded for some reason of looking into one of those infinity mirrors that show our reflection repeatedly into infinity. We are living embodiment of our ancestors. When I recently took my hairdresser’s suggestion to go very pale blonde at the front and sides leaving the back light red…I looked into the mirror as he took the towel off and I saw quite plainly my mother gazing back at me. It was… Read more »

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