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Updated: Feb 10, 2023

Arthur Michelstetter -- January 28, 2023

The sun rises as I watch my sink’s basin.

I watch it hopefully,

the excess of shaving cream

flowing down the drain.

Light, soft facial hair sits there,

spreading out evenly like a mosaic.

I take some lotion

and rub it into my face.

My palm on my cheek, feeling

so smooth, so soft,

so young, so fresh.

I look in the mirror;

I look at my boyish self

who will wake up to

many more shaves.

A sunrise, a future,

glistens like the light

of the sun’s reflection

off the water that remains

in the basin…

The sun sets.

My lightbulbs have burnt out.

I hold time

like water in my hands.

In the belly of the drained basin,

the cut hair from my stubble

sits dully in clumps

like clay.

I rub lotion

onto my face.

It won’t rub in.

I look at frail, pale skin.

Pale from the lotion

that only spreads

with each motion

of my hand.

What happened?

Why am I alone?

I was supposed to live my life,

supposed to swim in youth.

I wanted this age when I was five,

but now I drown in truth.

So my eyes turn to

the hairs in the basin.

I wanted to see them

when I was naïve.

Now they’re all I can see.

I got what I wanted,

but the sun has set

and the lights have burnt out.

The party’s over.

My stomach churns

in the lack of light.

I’m now blind

as I stare

into the basin.

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