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.