poem written based upon this image--online poetry class assignment
Late spring light drifts across the room, a cornflower wash that settles on everything the way dust settles on keepsakes no one means to forget. You lift the mirror, its edge still cool from the windowsill, and the glass catches a glimmer that doesn’t stay still~ it f l i c k e r s, almost shy, as if deciding whether to show you what it remembers. Your reflection w a v e r s, not dramatically, just enough to remind you that memory rarely arrives in straight lines. It comes in small echoes, soft ones, the kind that lean toward you when the afternoon quiets and you finally have time to notice what stays.
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