We are mirrors.


Just watch–

you reflect an imperfect idea to me,

and I

will send it back a little bit



          a little bit



We peer down the passage of time

looking for something that glass won’t change,

          something other than a reflection;


instead all we find are empty spaces.



          Places where the light


where your souls were


                    like wings.


With your words

          you could have changed

the curve of history.



tongues bloodied

          from biting back beauty,

          you watched your words run dry.


And when you did dare to open your mouths,

          they left your souls

somewhere between Corinthians and Timothy,

          between “for they are not permitted to speak”

and “she must be silent”

          until your words became as dry and forgotten


as pressed wildflowers.


          I wish I could write a poem

about how I’m a little bit different

                    because of your words, your hearts,


          those words never made it past your teeth

                              so cracked with the pressure

                  of holding


                                everything in.


Your brothers spun the earth

          with their language,


but you—

          you never quite made it,


          did you?


Elsa Kim

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