dead drunk dublin and other imaginal spaces
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t h e   m i r r o r

:  u l r i k e   g e r b i g

Every morning
I meet a woman
In the bathroom mirror

Though finely wrinkled
I still know her
as the girl
Whose wild and brazen laughter
Called to the hunter’s heart
Of boys
And made them follow her
To the thick undergrowth
Of pubescent passion plays

Her eyes can still
Cast spells
Turning males into
Grunting pigs
Routing for
Magic mushrooms
In her deep dark crevices

Yet lately
There is someone else
Standing right behind her
A woman
I don’t know yet

Her withered face
A transparent masque
Turning the well-known face
Into a persona non grata

We both are scared
The mirror-girl and I
And try to ward her off
With magic potions

Still we both know
There is no way round
Getting acquainted.



© copyright 2004, ulrike gerbig
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