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Inside My Glass Coffin
Shapes became distorted. Small watchful faces blurred
above me, transformed from solemn eyes, puckered mouths
into slender, dripping gashes, ravenous jaws.
I kept my eyes open. Watched my breath fog the glass,
then evaporate. At night, I pressed my fingers
to the cool lid, traced my name over and over,
just to watch it disappear. My arms and legs curled
inside my casket over time, confined to cramped
quarters. In my perpetual, clear reflection,
I watched my hair grow into black tangled vines while
my skin remained lustrous white, my lips stayed blood red.
Did she watch me then, through her own distorted glass,
as my limbs atrophied and my pure features froze
mid-bloom? I wonder what pleased her more, my dormant
beauty preserved inside her transparent tomb or
the day I was released, in showers of shattered
glass. After his kiss and my first few breaths of sharp
clean air, my life forever changed. I was no more
a beautiful girl, captured in her prime. I was
like her, a woman imprisoned against her will,
in her own fragile and perishable body.
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qarrtsiluni 