Strip mall glass reflects
my weaknesses, displaying
my pain in public, exposing
my fallibility, my humanity.
Rivers of salty tears etch
stains into my freckled features,
my Estée Lauder wrinkles
my L’oreal auburness.
Who is it that can so turn
my strength to sadness, sapping
my good intentions by wielding
words tainted with honesty?
Was it Odysseus who heard
the siren or fought apathy
of the Lotus flower? Am I
as weak as the blinded Cyclops?
What truth will your tale
bring down? Whose words
swayed you into believing
that my words were lies?
How swollen that sense of self.
How embattled my sorrow.
No salve will remove these scars;
You cut the core of me.
So like Socrates I question:
What can I learn when next
approaches this opportunity?
Turn back across that bridge–
Become a salt pillar else.
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