A Poem for Narcissus
I met you after a long winter.
I was frost-bitten and numb.
You were springtime, milk white and gold.
I wanted to be beautiful like you.
And I thought: I know how to do this.
I have years of experience.
I am a master of reflection.
Afterall, my mother named me Echo
And I was raised a dancer,
Mimicking my teachers in the mirror.
Yes, I know how to do this.
I will keep myself hollow and hard
So that when you kiss me, your breath will fill me
Your voice will become my voice.
You will echo off the chambers of my mouth, my throat
The space between my thighs.
You would lounge with a drink in your hand,
To watch the surfaces blur and fade,
Like a hand disturbing the water.
Everyone else wanted you, too.
But you got so used to rejecting them all
That even when you reached for me,
You were pushing me away.
What was it you were saying?
I love you.
No matter how many times I echoed it back to you
You could not hear me.
Did you ever really see me?
When you looked at me, I was just another reflection
A mirage of the love you could not find in yourself.
The love you kept reaching for in the glass.
I don’t blame you.
I grew up looking for myself in mirrors, too.