An Antique Beauty - Poem by Marieta Maglas
This antique mirror doesn't feed
my confidence. Its concave surface
reveals some magic tricks
due to a red reflection. Some hair curlers
and irons are there to fancy
some underclothing -
your swimmers strap underwear
and her bust body underwear slips.
‘Tis a new style.
I feel anguish when I touch
the push-pull-rotate door locks
of the bathroom. The picture
of an antique statue
is hidden in between
all those things. She enters
the mirror to kiss you
every time you gaze upon yourself
in the mirror
and start shaving. Like a jelly candy
seems to be her lipstick
on that silver, but
I don't want to taste it. Means bitterness for me
this fantasy of yours. These compressed
shapes of smiling lips look like isoquants, or like
indifference curves. I want
to leave you.
What do you think?
When I wash it, the water
that drips from this mirror
looks like the crimson blood. Scary
optical illusions split the reality
into two variants through my woe
to create a much looser
and less direct relationship
between us than ever. You
live for your comfort
and versatility. You cannot change it.
Copyright © Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
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