The Mirror

Inside the mirror, I saw –

stars cast like glitter on a velvet sheet,
Mars glinting like a ruby at dusk,
a fox picking its way across fresh snow,
leaving an alphabet of footprints.
A cormorant waiting with the patience of stone
on the rocks at Carbis Bay,
a black taxi crawling like a polished beetle
up Oxford Street,
an empty bus shelter on The Broadway,
beneath sullen, grey skies.
Inside the mirror, I heard
the winter wind slipping through the city’s cold arms,
a goldfinch’s song chiming like tiny bells,
the first hint of snow and the last whisper of sunlight,
the steady hiss of gas on Grandad John’s cooker
as the kettle begins to purr.
The crack of a door opening and the welcoming ‘hello’,
a letter landing on the mat and a sudden gasp.
A baby’s first cry and a soldier’s sigh.
Inside the mirror, I imagined
a Frost Dragon breathing ice and bitter snow,
a sword-polisher shining each blade until
they glittered like metallic teeth,
a map-maker soaring across the fields,
scratching marks onto leather.
An elf whispering secrets into the ears of sleeping trolls
and the final giant snoring.

© Pie Corbett 2020