Thursday, April 22, 2010

Glass

A disco ball gleams, an eye
of God, and I'm reflected
thousands of times, tiny
in squares until I can't breathe,

drowning in the sounds of bass
I mistake for my heart. The other dancers--
my shadows, come closer to, then farther
from me, sprayed out in the strobe
lights, pressing me in and out of two

times, two worlds. My face I remember
from this morning behind a fog of
breath in the bathroom
mirror, and the bar-

tender, who said, it's not the heart
I'm after,
his eyes following another
man on his way out. In this club I see
myself upside down inside a woman's

glass. I sit next to her and she holds me
between her fingers, then her lips. She tilts
me back with her head, but I'm never quite right

side up. Instead, I just disappear
somewhere inside her.

-Ely Shipley