Reflect

Reflect

I’m that guy—

the guy always looking

in mirrors

who walks by a big

plate glass window

glances over

I might walk by again

to glance another time

I’m embarrassed by it

I think they see me

looking at myself

think I’m vain

think I’m narcissistic

I’m insecure

It feels odd

paying attention to yourself

to your appearance

but I’ve always been that guy

who has a bunch of hats

different coats, costumes

I tell people it’s because

I’m in theatre

that’s why I collect all these

coats and hats and props

but really, I think

it’s because

I’m still not sure

who I am.

I look in the mirror

and I’m really not sure.

I’m with me all the time—

and “familiarity breeds contempt”

but I’m not contemptuous

looking at my face

WHERE THE GROWTH BEGINS

in the mirror in the morning

or whenever,

it just doesn’t seem real.

There’s a distance between me

And that guy I see,

though I know

where all his moles are,

where his hair has gone gray,

why his beard is trimmed like that,

longer on that one part

than on the other,

because I missed a spot.

I understand why his shirt

has those stains

I spilled soup there

I see all of that

but like I’m looking

at a deep-fake

How do I connect

what I see

with this voice,

this consciousness?

How do I know if I’m

telling him things,

or he’s telling me?

Who else is conscious?

My dogs—

self-conscious, self-aware—

do they think of themselves

as particular beings?

Do they have a sense

of their own personalities?

Or do they just engage

whatever’s on the outside

responding to instincts

that drive them?

I do smile in my mirror,

DR SCOTT SIMPSON

it would be rude

not to,

but really, he feels

so lost.

WHERE THE GROWTH BEGINS