Across the sideways, bronze framed hall mirror,
A ribbon of infrared light imprinted itself,
Like a streak of alien sky;
Hours later, it dimmed and blew out, like an ill-furnished house.
Other reflections crawled across like tarantulas...
Somebody's corduroy acorn brown trouser legs and spotless tapshoes;
Somebody's long-lashed, hazel-ringletted doll; it was wearing a lacy, tulip-embroidered smock with frilled edges, and it was napping in a nook.
One day, somebody slipped-up; their teacup, which had a watercolour lily design, ended-up on the mirror:
The owner of reflections fragmented,
Until it was nothing but a set of chess pieces, cluttering a dustpan.
A crescent of sun splintered the window, targeting the shards in the can like yellow rose hued rainbows.
Copyright © Emma Ukwu | Year Posted 2023