The man who rents the room in the attic
tried to show me a mirror trick the one
where three mirrors make a reflection echo
We couldn’t get the angle quite right Funny
the way if you look at one for long it starts to lisp
like milk in the mouth I kept seeing my eyes
darting like little lobotomized fish from one flat
glass to the next In the dreams where I’m driving
he said I go too fast While you’re dreaming
I said the dream is the only real thing
He looked handsome in the mirror I imagined
his hand on the back of my thigh moving
north like a warm cloud catching cold
When you have a craving you can’t satisfy
a blister grows in your mouth If he had touched me
which body would feel it Now I am looking
at my hand re-rendering it reaching toward his cheek
becoming its own animal as the woman in the mirror
waves the way a stranger might raise a hand
from across the street and then abruptly lower it
realizing I am not who she thought I was
——-
Rhea Ramakrishnan is a writer and visual artist from Baltimore, Maryland. Currently, she teaches at the University of New Mexico and serves as Poetry Editor for Blue Mesa Review. Her poetry has been published in HAD, Hoxie Gorge Review, Maudlin House, and elsewhere. She spends a lot of time driving.