I woke from a sweet sleep to find an old man waiting in my reflection,
checking his watch & making calculations in his ledger.
But I could only laugh as the hours washed the days away,
& I turned off the light rather than write to my father,
or stare further into the reflection of what is or what might be.
I know I have to go back to where the child is held,
prepare to fight, or worse,
confront the ordinary.
What if my whispers give no screams?
What if my screams give way to silence?
Then, what am I now?
Published in The Frequency of God, Close-Up Books, December 2017