Reflections - Broken Mirror by N.J. Plath

The thirty nine hairline fractures
in my compact’s mirror
weaves a web around
my reflection
when I want to gaze at me.
I try not to remember
The many unsorted episodes
of my past.
it’s my past partner’s temper
that breaks through,
A temper that steamblew a
cyclone of pain, violence, torture, degredation & shame.
My mirror, every morning, reminds me.
Outside I look pretty much the same.
Inside I reflect the mirror.
Millions of shattered, jarred, pieces
Woven into frayed nerve endings and
my ‘been down so long…’ blues hanging over me.
I could get a new mirror,
even though this one works pretty well.
But I think I must wait.
I probably will when I start to feel better
from the degredation and all,
what difference does a broken mirror make,
anyhow.

by N.J. Plath