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Looking glass

The world upside down yet not,
In the foreboding way the ceiling lights seem to be just right sitting on the floor rather than the ceiling
And it seems right to have such an open floor that bends around the corridor.
It seems just to have the mirrors and candles pointed at the floor,
Reflecting on the ceiling lamps now amongst the linoleum tiled floor,
Winter amidst the smells of childhood
I don’t feel as “myself”, who is ‘I’, who is ‘me’?
But the past of the past of this person and a future reproach of who I will be,
I feel as though a small girl dancing among the house laughing and smiling, feeling alright and without a wish to be had
Only the European cooking, only the smiling face de ton maman, only there and now in family and home
For so long in tears and want, you forget the feeling and it dwells upon you,
You never thought you would be here, opening that big vast bookcase, or walking through fields like that of saintgermain, music playing its very simple.
And this place, this cold bricked building will once become a home.
As though a dream from long ago come true always standing tiptoe in the bathroom mirror trying to see myself a few years older, where I’d be, what I want,
And this, this in all my cries is it.





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