Today
the mirror from my in-laws’ house,
crowned by wrought iron
curliqued surround,
hangs in my bedroom.
Through the frame of the looking glass
I look towards the past...
Bournemouth1976...
the Teasmade whirrs and steams
as we wake in the guest room,
in the bungalow
near the prom.
In the mirror
we’re reflected,
thirty somethings
in the seventy-somethings,
late developed love.
I couldn’t tell, in those innocent days,
that the reflections would change so
would transmute to fragmented images
of our shattered promises
after the death of his parents
after the house clearers left
after I saved the mirror
from the fate that awaited it.
Janice Windle
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ups-and-downs-collection-mirror/
