I dodged mirrors after the surgery,
would even wrinkle my eyelids in a tight
squeeze near glass, not ready to view
the twisted limb, to know why the pinched
nerves pushed out cries and curses in darkness.
skilled at sliding from bed to wheelchair,
I once forgot to shut my eyes, so caught a glimpse
of myself in the dresser mirror. My brain
observed, from eyes’ surprise,
how tissue and bone beneath the left
knee had vanished, was quickly replaced
by a stump with deep grooves and scars in the skin.
I blinked at mirrors all day; the remains never
sharp waves still dangled
over bed’s edge every morning. So,
I challenged reflections until finally,
what once seized the phantom bones
trailed behind the missing.
Literary Yard, 2013