DAPHNE HARRIES
Commended - 2024 Tower Poetry Competition, 'Mirror'
Mamgu / Mirror
We gather around a pit
(dug to scale)
(as long as her elbows are pressed in)
I am told we have the same eyes.
I don't know who chose the open casket.
A week later, I walk to the charity shop,
Her clothes in the bin bag I conversed with at breakfast.
I've started taking scalding showers
Because I read somewhere that it helps.
Leaving the bathroom floor, I rise
With a reflection and my grandmother
Her arms are folded, elbows tucked in.
She is stern in a stiff towel.
Her eyes, my eyes, are hard with something.
I barely notice how the condensation embalms her a second time.
Her feet pad across the kitchen tiles
Droplets of water left in her wake.
A late night cuppa.
Downstairs, I hear a human mimic of a kettle whistle.
The extractor fan is left on all night.
The bin bag is dumped unceremoniously on the street.
There is a half-empty mug of tea on the bath ledge.
I rise, I do not look in the mirror.
I carry the bag from the other side of town.
She’ll be wanting her dressing gown soon enough.