2 mirrors

when i lived alone
shaving my head was like communion.
the apartment smelled of fried eggs 
despite the fact i'd never cooked
a single one. for the first month
or so i didn't have a pan. instead,
i had one holy plate that entered
& exited the microwave. it was plastic
& light. started to bear the stains
of my rituals. gashes of salsa & beans.
two forks. three spoons
& the green mug. you can be so alone
you start to see all of your fractures.
you think you are one human 
& then there is the self who begs
to walk the streets of your town at night.
the other self who looks at big houses
& craves to be a whole family.
the softest self who could sleep 
the whole day away. in the bathroom
i strategically positioned two mirrors
so that i could see the back of my head.
the art of getting an even shave.
i knew i had to do it my self after
i went to a barber & he asked,
"what made you move here?"
i didn't have a good answer
for him or myself. i fumbled with 
jelly bean words. i said the only
truth i could find. "it is beautiful here."
holding the clippers steady 
& tracing line after line. watching
the hair fall to the floor. coming apart
like a chorus. one & all. the mirror
i could look into, face-forward 
& the mirror revealing me from behind.
then, afterward, the elation of a hot shower. 
steam & skin. all of my ghosts
wearing their long hair & short hair 
& half-shaven heads. i curled up
afterwards on the floor towel 
i called my sofa. put one of the three spoons
in my mouth. ate ice cream in the quiet dark.