← v17n1, Spring 2018
Poetry · Volume 17, Number 1

A Mirror Never Lies

At 4:40 a.m., I pushed

my hand into my hair.

A heap

of frightened crows poured out.

I pulled my sleeves down,

told my mother’s fragrance

to hide

inside my dress.

Having lost the night,

I asked the gallows to take some rest.

The gallows turned to me

and smiled.