Face in the Mirror
In the inconsistent wind,
a cloudy sky and a cotton dress
have a dull color. The dress fills,
then suddenly it shrinks.
A child puffs her cheeks,
then suddenly she sucks them in,
studying herself before a mirror,
supposing that her little brother
is not watching. When she leaves,
he tries it too. Her faces
frightened him. But when he
stares at his own reflection,
now a plump melon, now a hungry skull,
he forgets about his sister.
He cannot wear a dress,
but he is a boy.
He can do anything.
He will never die.
He is sure of it.
February. Suddenly, the sun.
In the stinging glare everything
looks haloed and whiter than white.
The snow and ice, pocked and dirty,
drip and freeze again.
Long a reader of poetry, R.D.
Parker has recently turned to writing poems himself. His work has appeared in Caketrain, decomP, PANK, and Salamander. https://sites.google.com/