(For my father)
The opposite of vanity
my father’s request for a mirror
a few days
before he died.
Was it some sort of inner quest
a searching for form in formlessness,
a finding of clues
in a puddle of glass ?
Or perhaps he’d just remembered
the photos he’d seen on the mobile screen
of my sister’s phone
the day before.
Was he asking for the brand new toy,
calling it by the name of the old,
the hand mirror
of changing faces?
Captivated by invention
his mind alert to ‘new-fangled’ things,
he wanted to have a look.
They brought my father the mirror
It was on a Christmas morning.
But his humble smile
has left its trace
on the face of my phone now,
* * *
25th February 2010
I wrote this for my father, R.I.P. who died 30th December 2009.
* * *