First One, Then the Other

This entry is part 54 of 73 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2011-12


In the hive, the honey drowses
in the same cell as the bee;

and on the shelf the weathered book
clasps the spine of each page equally.

When the face looks back at itself
from the mirror, what does it see?


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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One Reply to “First One, Then the Other”


    Was it Fabianne Geismar’s * fantasy, lifting that mirror?
    Mirror as loot in temblor-stricken Haiti is fantasy

    enough for that crumpled lass on the rubble of Haiti.
    Haiti made sure the lass absconded too with enough

    bullets in her brain, rending a dream of seeing her face
    face itself in a purloined vanity piece pocked with bullets

    when retrieved for Wal-Mart from her tight embrace.

    Embrace your mirror, girl, a trophy of blooming. When?
    When stirrings in your haunches told you what to steal?

    Steal the heart of that lad staring at you with shy lust:
    lust for love, for all that wreckage allows you to steal

    so you can see your mouth that will kiss him, your eyes,
    eyes that will shape him in your breasts, your so…

    So supple body ripened quickly to life’s urgent quiver.

    —Albert B. Casuga

    * SHOT DEAD FOR STEALING MIRRORS. Fabianne Geismar,GEISMAR, 15, was shot by police pursuing looters.—Headline and Caption, The Toronto Star, Catastrophe in Haiti, Jan 20, 2009, Pg. 19

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