A mirror that covered a doorway, to the inside of my adolescence has shattered in my ebony mind.
And the door is a door again.
Ajar and echoes laughter… Skeleton key hangs from the vintage knob.
I enter and I’m back in that lilac room with the pale yellow and rose print quilt…often wrapped up in.
How many hours did I spend alone? — Countless, with colored drip candles burning and Mazzy Star’s melodic heaviness over the stereo.
Staring into that huge mirror on an acid trip….warn not to, but I did. What did I see? A parallel of me? Not quite. It moves drip by drip…slowly and then zigzags down into unknown colors.
I was a witness to my own aging.
The memory ephemeral today, movement of living and like she sang “Turning into dust.”
Poem: Naomi Ruth Saharski W. Music: Mazzy Star