Dorian Gray

You know how familiar your own hand looks to you?
How you would recognize it anywhere,
Even cut off?

I look at my hand
Or my knee
And I clearly see me.

But I look in the mirror
And wonder who it is,
Surely it is not me.

Others recognize me by my face
Not by my knee.
But my face seems to me more foreign than my knee.

Why?
Because I am old?
Because I am afraid?

I don’t talk to my knee,
But I do talk to my face,
In the mirror.

I say, ” Who are you?
I ask because you look a bit like me,
But older and more forlorn”.

The man in the mirror never has anything to say.
He listens patiently while I speak.
Though he nods once in a while.

It is a Dorian Gray scene,
But in a mirror,
Not a painting.

The mirror ages faster,
Showing every misdeed,
Which I hope no one else sees.