I, the mirror

There are days when I peek in the mirror

and see only the empty stare of a fallen reality….

I stand on the street corner outside a crooked church,

steeple cocked as if listening for a lost repent.

Dressed in a seek sucker suit,

the stripe in it as deep

as the cerulean sky above,

I cup brown rice in my hand,

my pockets bulging with it.

I hear the processional wedding march.

The battered door on the landing above me creaks.

I fling my rice high in the air

and it susurrates to the Earth

as rain and then as my tears.