Monday, May 16, 2016

Mirror, Fred W. Feldman

The Hotel Mirror
By Frederick W Feldman

I see myself in the bathroom mirror,
naked against the tiling on the walls,
pale and thin in a place to me unknown.
But the shower is peaceful, away from
the noisy radio and the chatter
in the room. The water is warm and good;
drops stick to the walls and spray off my arms,
and the soap lathers across my shoulders.
Perhaps the only pleasures are those that
can be felt by the body, for what have
I found in dreams and contemplations of
the Other Realms but fear and confusion?


Tethered to a destination – weighted
in dead air – spinning like a whirligig.
The hotel room is ascetic: books and
work to keep out the boredom – the things that
are me are not here. I see the natives,
and, to each other, we’re less than human.
And who am I? I’m only passing through.
I’m not sure how to fill the empty days;
they never end, and when I go home I’ll
return to them, in the places I’m known.
But for now, I’m clean and lost in headphones –
I can’t escape a sense of well-being.


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