I cleaned the mirror

in the living room

and meant to look

into it, and went

back to the kitchen twice

for paper towels.

I polished it clear

but forgot to search

for anything important

there, boxed away

or lost. Maybe a bowl

of broken glass, the face

of a dead dog, or the spent

ends of blue candles.

When I get home today,

assuming I do, I’ll look

for Papa’s radio,

his pen knife, his bible

stuffed with letters and

clippings, and find

the tearful image

of his eyes.

Kyle Kimberlin

11.13.2002