"Of Glass" by Raven Goode

of Glass

I want to cover the mirror in black cloth, a rough touch
like the disconnected spines of a feather.
If the mirror has your name, it is enough

to bind you, to coil the hempen rope and clutch, tough
fibers impinge then pin your legs and arms. Unsevered.
I want to cover the mirror in black cloth, a rough touch

of spun burlap to obscure it, scratch it, smudge, rebuff
                                                its glassy tether.
If the mirror has your name, it is enough

to twist and tangle your hair across your brow, up flush
against the ridge over your eyes like leather.
I want to cover the mirror in black cloth, a rough touch

against my fingers. The truth is a coarse brush,
a wood-handle tool to build a new self. A lever.
If the mirror has your name, it is enough

to rain cold glass on the tile. I stuff such
fragments of doubt in the trash. A name is not forever.
I don’t cover the mirror in black cloth. I forgive
the mirror, and it becomes
black wings

raven goode

Raven Goode is an MA candidate in Creative Writing at University College Cork in Cork, Ireland. She graduated from the Metropolitan State University of Denver in 2019 with a BA in English. She writes both poetry and fiction in short and long form, and enjoys writing poetry in form. As a transgender writer, her work often addresses themes of identity.

Headshot: Raven Goode

Photo Credit: Staff