Sun on my face and the train slips
into the tunnel. Dim reflection confronts.
Perhaps I am lacking in something substantial
like iron, or virtue. How easy it is to hurt
someone, how hard to face what comes after.
My face, strangely lit, in the bathroom
mirror. Surrounded by friends, I felt a queasy
aloneness, didn’t know whose lap to cry into.
Someone spat out an olive pit. Someone tore
streamers off the wall. I distorted
through the stemmed glass. Already exhausted
in this angular year, where I hover
like a stranger to my own life.
No resolution in any of it.