Thread by @RCdeWinter

#poetry

The Mirror

She found the mirror hidden in the back
of a dusty curio shop and fell in love.
Its proportions and dignified antiquity
made it the perfect piece in which
to admire herself.

The ancient proprietor watched her
as she gazed at her pretty face in the glass.
He knew by her dress she couldn't afford it,
for though his premises were dusty and jumbled
all his treasures were just that –

treasures of impeccable craftsmanship,
venerable age and unimpeachable provenance.
But he had been waiting for her;
he knew she was the one meant for that mirror –
the only possible rightful owner.

When she turned and asked the price
he gave a charming smile.
"For you, a special bargain,"
and named a sum ridiculously low.
And, as was fitting, she then bought it
and arranged for its delivery the next day.

The old man, having fulfilled his part
in this unfolding, smiled again
as she thanked him, waving as she left the shop.

She hung the mirror in the hallway off the parlor,
a place to show it off but yet convenient
for preening, and every time she passed it
she would stop just for a moment
to admire herself framed in its gilded oak.

And her occasional guests were all astonished,
whispering behind their hands, wondering how
she'd found the wherewithal to buy it.

After awhile she noticed something odd
about the mirror – rather, something odd
in how it reflected.

Her face would seem to waver slightly
as she stood before it,
almost melting, fusing with the silvered glass.
She wondered if her eyes were going
so she had them checked, but no –
her eyes were fine – it was the mirror.

Not too long after her eyes were pronounced perfect
she was smoothing scarlet lipstick on her pretty pouty
mouth before the mirror. When she was done she
flashed herself a smile.

And then, the mirror spoke her name.
She fainted dead away onto hard wood,
waking sometime later with a nasty bump.
Shaking, she stood before the glass all
disbelieving, as if daring it to speak her name again.

No sound came forth.
She decided she’d been deluded, overtired;
her nerves had always been her weakest point.
Day after day she paused before the mirror,
glancing into silent glass and smiling.

She began regaling this adventure to friends,
telling tales on herself and her imagining
she owned a talking mirror.

One night she came home late,
a bit the worse for wear after a party.
She stumbled down the hallway to the mirror;
defiantly she stared into its smoothness,

chanting "Mirror mirror on the wall,
I'm the fairest of them all."

To her horror the glass rippled
like waves buffeted by the wind.

Then, two wrinkled, sharp-clawed hands
shot forth from it, grabbing her by the neck.

The last thing she remembered before
everything went black was a guttural voice replying,
"Yes, you are, and no doubt tender too."

© 2015 RC deWinter
Published in Coffin Bell @coffin_bell
Vol. 4 Issue No. 3, July 2021