We stare out at each other through the mirror,
He stands in his bathroom,
towel wrapped around his hips,
foam covers his face as he glides
the razor beneath his chin.
I brush my teeth, swirl the mouthwash,
squinch my face searching for perfections.
He buttons up his shirt humming,
I trace our names in the steam as he
grabs a water, I get coffee inhaling deeply
as he drums his fingers against the desk,
I try to wash the ink off my hands,
sucking in my waist as I stare at myself,
How does he see me?
He glances in the rearview mirror,
cursing the heat as he sweats,
I watch out the glass doors for my shadow self
as he enters, shattering the image.
For just a second we pose as if we’ve practiced.
For more on Kim Malinowski, please see our Authors page.
Amarillo Bay 