The Mirror Quips Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The mirror speaks inaudibly
Mimicking the motions of my lips
As if intimately kissing the glass
With subtle hints of moist and sweat.
Striking conversations with the
Shabbiest of shadows
“You are behind me, ” I saw my lips
Move to the direction of the
Sculpts of the letters that I articulated
And from there, I moved my hand
To touch the firm, sturdy face of the mirror
As if touching myself – seeing myself
For the first time. I was as wounded
As a hound dog of war,
As traumatized as the children of classic warfare.
“You are behind me, ” I told the shadow
That was profusely burning at the
Small of my back – Now the shadow sprawled
Like cicadas on my skin and quipped,
“No, you are behind, ” And it was true,
I am left behind,
And I tumbled like a wobbling tower
Of unstable faith.
If only I can transform
The mirror into a rivulet,
And position it underneath the Sun
Perpendicular to the horrid skyline
Where the swift albatrosses
And doves dash athwart,
I will. I will.