compact under the bed
and open
it to look at myself in her mirror.
i study the lines
in my face,
and try to remember
what put them there.
the laugh
lines,
the frown,
the furrowed brow.
damaged
by sun
and love, death and pain.
she was part of it too.
so easily
it is to toss it across the room,
straight into
the mouth
of the waiting can.
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