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— VĂ­ctor Rodríguez Núñez

Lorna Thorpe, from A Ghost in my House

Mirror in the bathroom

It was business as usual — wand, sticks of kohl
and coral, fingers pleating her jaw line
as if taking in the baggy seams of last year's dress.
Except she turned her back on me, abruptly,
after painting just one eye. Reflection fading
she started falling, gone before she hit the deck.
Had I seen it coming? I'd seen her putting up
her hair, adjusting necklace, cleavage, watched
her try on every dress and tee-shirt in her wardrobe
all that sucking in of belly, hoisting up of breasts,
grimacing and pouting, smoothing oils and lotions,
melancholy lyrics mouthed into a hairbrush.
In my silver, I hold memories of a long, long gaze
her moving lips, some torment I could never hear.
But yes, I am clairvoyant. I'd seen her body
vanishing in steam, the blanching of her skin
as a shadow crossed her heart, knew she'd shape herself
into a question mark, curled up on the floor.