Object in Mirror Is Not an Object

At a friend’s apartment, I’m

washing up after a loud, shared meal.

I usually avoid bathrooms

right after as

everyone knows my history.

I don’t want to make them wonder.

But I’m with my misfits

who’ve been through their own battles

abandonment, shame, addiction, depression

outpaced their demons,

and we are all of us

battling still,

but we do not war alone. We know we will survive.

We already have.

We are those reckless, wild ones

who courageously love fragile things

because everything

is too fragile when you love it.

I dry my hands

on soft, loose denim-clad thighs,

look up to the glass,

not checking, just looking,

and there I see her.

Kindness and humor

in clear eyes,

smiling at the private joke–

that we are happy to be together,

alive and free,

worthy of tenderness.

We love each other,

and the punch line

of our favorite inside joke is:

We are so much more

than this mirror can hold.