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Mirror

I am silver and exact.

I have no preconceptions.

Whatever I see I swallow

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

I am not cruel, only truthful ‚The eye of a little god, four-cornered.

Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.

It is pink, with speckles.

I have looked at it so longI think it is part of my heart.

But it flickers.

Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake.

A woman bends over me,

Searching my reaches for what she really is.

Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.

I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.

She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.

I am important to her.

She comes and goes.

Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.

In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old

Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

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Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath (October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) was an American poet, novelist, and short-story writer.

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