The mirror is the blunt, best friend who says,
“Yes, you do look fat in that dress, dear,”
but doesn’t judge. Don’t look at her. Instead,
Spinner of Tales, please come and set your gaze
past flaws. Stitch your stories to the glass.
You’ve seduced with words that spark and spin,
blaze from eyes to desk to bed and back.
Find the space between stocking and shin,
glimpse a flash of pale breast when thin
light shimmers across fragments of thigh.
Close your eyes and brace over me. Listen:
language on flesh changes iambs to eyes.
You know my skin from space: an aerial view.
Break the mirror and reflect our bodies new.
Karen Janowsky is a yoga instructor and adjunct professor at the College of Southern Maryland. She holds an M.A. in creative writing from Florida State University, where she served as the poetry editor for “The Southeastern Review.”
