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A Mirror, Dissolving
by Christina LaPrease
Someone sneezes & I remember learning
to say symptom, how we grew into the hush:
caught coughs in a mask, pocketed morphine
in rabbit furs & practiced numbers
by the show of our bones. Once, we gathered
pillows for a reason of rain & bedded down
in a tub, chasing dragons. A junk calm blazed
between us, until our rooms, unkept by pilot lights,
took in the river. Haunted by the watermark,
we let our cushions go & the fathoms folded
us apart. These days, I trade accents & faces
every few years. Fall in love, meet a father,
save small fists of coasts in pill bottles & stop
dreaming good morning sunshine. I rise & am still
one hour too many. I move on a cut of sleep
& somewhere, a clock pushes its sharp circles of noise.
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