Peter Blair: Portrait in Plate Glass

Dim in each angle,
not much of me stares back.

A lot of light gets through
into the store’s dark interior.

What did Virgil call it:
a shade? “You are here”

my form says, but only half
of me: my doctor sighs,

You’re getting old. Less light
comes through my pores,

the skin so thin it turns
itself in. I’m Humpty

and the shade is Dumpty.
We’re trapped in the looking-

glass, darkly. The doctors try
to put me back together.

I move on, leaving my shade
where the window ends.

I’m okay for now, hoping
the traces of cancer remain

traces, and the blood test
percentages stay

a shade of normal.

—

Copyright 2014 by Peter Blair

Published by permission of the author.