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.