by Kip Knott
My reflection holds a mirror up to me so I may see myself for myself. He looks for any sign of recognition in my eyes, his eyes, the eyes of our shared companion. He unpurses his lips as if to say something to break the silence that, though transparent as a pane of glass, has always been a barrier between us. But then he thinks of the temptation that razor-sharp shards may present, and so repurses his lips. His mouth all but disappears as he swallows a truth I came to know long ago when I reflected on who I was, who I wanted to be, and who I am. In the end, we are all strangers, the three of us, not knowing what to say to one another, or whether the other ones of us are or ever were one and the same.
Kip Knott is a writer, poet, teacher, photographer, and part-time art dealer. His newest poetry chapbook, The Misanthrope in Moonlight, is available from Bottlecap Press.
