The child in the glass peers at me.
His blue eyes swiveling about
at the counter’s edge,
eight perfect fingers gripping white.
With triumphant glee he smiles
neat rows of tiny pearls, laughing.
I laugh too.
The boy in the glass glares back at me.
Narrowed brown eyes,
thin bare shoulders sporting
flexed arms held rigid.
Faint lines trace hidden muscles
and a divot stamped
in the middle of his chest.
His arms drop, frowning.
I smile with pressed eyebrows.
The young man in the glass scrutinizes me.
Brown steel piercing, challenging.
Arms braced upon the counter
bearing tree root veins.
Wisps of the proudest hair
sprout above a stamped divot.
A girl with auburn hair
glides between his arms,
the brown steel melts and glows.
I watch with sad eyes and pursed lips.
The man in the glass studies me.
Brown and grey
delving, asking, seeking.
Thin lips framed by stubble
and faint shadows cup his eyes.
A curly forest blankets his chest
with a small impression at the center.
Calloused hands with bitten nails
firmly clench the counter edge.
I answer him.
The man in the glass beams at me.
Brown-grey laughing above
blue glass giggling.
Thinning hair retreating
as his son’s feathered hair advances.
Meticulous little fingers
barely surround each index.
Bowed wobbling legs
bounce with glee.
My eyes gleam.
The man in the glass regards me.
Grey-brown a winking twinkle
amid one thousand creases.
bearing ten thousand stories
scrawled in endless lines.
Gazing a hundred thousand miles deep,
head of a feathery white cloud.
He nods satisfied
snuffing the cloud with a grey tweed cap.
He tips the brim with a smirk.
I nod back.
The ancient man in the glass peers at me.
Grey slits floating in
a melted constellation of age spots.
Wispy smoke smolders
atop his old dome.
Tubes under his nose
and in plump blue veins.
His mouth creaks
to form the final words.
“It is well.”
My eyes close.