He read in Umberto Eco once
That the mirror captures the truth.
It captures the truth inconceivably.
One look into the reflection glass,
And folks drop every illusion
They may have had before.
The man saw a reflection of him.
So far he could rely on the simple fact
That it would be he,
Who waved back inside the mirror,
Night after night.
The man liked the mirror
As it was a reflection of a life fully lived, and
He liked seeing he was still there.
The man cut a face
To iron out his wrinkles.
He stuck out his tongue and
Ran his fingers through his shaggy hair.
So far this has always worked.
Faithfully the image inside the mirror copied
Every move.
But today something was off,
Today something was different.
Today the image inside the mirror
Hardly moved.
It remained motionless and unimpressed
To the man's playful gimmicks.
The man took a step back.
"Who are you?", he asked anxiously, because
Whoever looked out of the mirror tonight
Was a stranger.
© Colleen Yorke, 2020.