Mirrors be damned. You ran
your hands through your untamed hair
without fear of poison. The wide, slitted eyes,
the teeth, they knew better, knew
they’d be swinging in the wind
without you. It was good to be needed.
Besides, you knew yourself as a reflection
and had no need of a glass.
Men’s faces twisted into your likeness–
you ran a finger over the granite lines,
smoothed their brows, tested the edge
of their teeth. They stayed warm
a long time.