Mirror

Emil stands in front of a paintingand sees only himself,evolving,    dissipatingfrom what he is and was:half of thathalf of this,into what his fatheris not    andwhat his motheris. It isthere in the painting:

the almond-shaped eyeslighting from within like the night’sreflection of the sun, the roundnose shiny with youth,lips plump of life, plump of desireand anonymity. A woman,skin darklike his mother’s, sitting in a chairlooking at him, questioninghim with her nudity.

And somewhere between hiseyes  (brown    like      hers)and his brainhe saw only  that ofhim        the mother of himtransposing on the paintingchameleoning into:skin of dungeyes of muda round nose dominatingher face ugly    like the thick veins of her handsswollen with the rough of workher feet,  too wide for shoes,he dirties with crud& the back, once straightoozing into a gnarled tree too burdened with its ownweight, bending down low & where her breasts once full    nubile      romantically eroticare molding over into pendulous  orbs    too      heavy forthemselves, resting on her kneesthat he made ashen & dryand it was this    obscuring        perceptionthat makes himturn away

blindly. outsidedown rain wet stairsfeet carrying him downsidewalks dirtying itself with too many footstepsand sludge of the air inkingthe concrete with wads of flattened gumlosing their tasteold cars pass renewing themselvesby the sheen of raininking the park with hunter-green grasspainting in the lack of sunlight nude trees,shadows painting barrels too full ofrefuse chaining itself to a bencha womanpeering at him, a vision of shadowingverve someone’s desire and everyone’s anonymity& her face& her body& sheis replacingthe paintinghe knew it as her presencereplacing it with a thought she could neverBe.