Seasons, Mirrors
-for Shelia Sherwin, on her sixtieth birthday
I
We tell ourselves: objects in mirrors are
Always forced revisions of time, and age
Is always closer than it might appear.
But every day will open reflection’s door
Providing escape—though calendar’s cage
Is always closer than it might appear.
While flooding decades push a single tear
To fret the grave, the winter cannot gauge
What our selves see: objects in mirrors are.
The reaping plow will come one day to score
Our final bed. But summer says, “Engage
What is always closer than might appear.”
The fractured glass, the vessel cracked, these stare
At you like faulty texts, but turn the page,
Compose yourself—object to what mirrors are:
Mere proximations of joy.
For you’re more
Than sixty years on an infinite stage.
You, beyond what objects in mirrors are,
Reflect what’s closer than what might appear.
II
Begin anew. The first of spring, the last of snow,
Though you were born at summer’s height,
Should serve to thaw to gold the frozen bough
And loose from darkened prison, prismed sight.
Remember well how summer bore you here:
Each day that gives you birth you come to see
The rainbow’s focus blurred upon a tear,
The spill of nature’s generosity.
Recall how the seasons’ mirrors propose
A paradox: the life that lives in death
Of ripened corn, the flock that feeds and grows—
Reckon likewise that eternity’s breath
Renders us misty objects in a mirror
Forever closer than we might appear.

TTL, (dates NA) aka, The Total Stranger, is a writer of poems who by cosmic accident was included in a group chat inviting one and all to contribute written accounts of why one Shelia Sherwin, celebrating her 60th birthday, was someone to know. TTL knew none of the individuals in the group chat but was charmed by the ongoing persiflage in the aforementioned e-confab, and, taking a leap of faith regarding the possibility of alternative universes, decided to out himself as TTL. He wishes Ms. Sherwin a raft of blessings on her appointed day of being among us.
Seasons, Mirrors
-for Shelia Sherwin, on her sixtieth birthday
I
We tell ourselves: objects in mirrors are
Always forced revisions of time, and age
Is always closer than it might appear.
But every day will open reflection’s door
Providing escape—though calendar’s cage
Is always closer than it might appear.
While flooding decades push a single tear
To fret the grave, the winter cannot gauge
What our selves see: objects in mirrors are.
The reaping plow will come one day to score
Our final bed. But summer says, “Engage
What is always closer than might appear.”
The fractured glass, the vessel cracked, these stare
At you like faulty texts, but turn the page,
Compose yourself—object to what mirrors are:
Mere proximations of joy.
For you’re more
Than sixty years on an infinite stage.
You, beyond what objects in mirrors are,
Reflect what’s closer than what might appear.
II
Begin anew. The first of spring, the last of snow,
Though you were born at summer’s height,
Should serve to thaw to gold the frozen bough
And loose from darkened prison, prismed sight.
Remember well how summer bore you here:
Each day that gives you birth you come to see
The rainbow’s focus blurred upon a tear,
The spill of nature’s generosity.
Recall how the seasons’ mirrors propose
A paradox: the life that lives in death
Of ripened corn, the flock that feeds and grows—
Reckon likewise that eternity’s breath
Renders us misty objects in a mirror
Forever closer than we might appear.

TTL, (dates NA) aka, The Total Stranger, is a writer of poems who by cosmic accident was included in a group chat inviting one and all to contribute written accounts of why one Shelia Sherwin, celebrating her 60th birthday, was someone to know. TTL knew none of the individuals in the group chat but was charmed by the ongoing persiflage in the aforementioned e-confab, and, taking a leap of faith regarding the possibility of alternative universes, decided to out himself as TTL. He wishes Ms. Sherwin a raft of blessings on her appointed day of being among us.
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