self-portrait without a mirror

tears form small, glossy patches on the pool
of my skirt remind me how small is my sorrow

after long stillness my body hums its tuneless
& squeaking refrain kiln-dried spruce piano
in need of touch to make music your mouth

teaches me the shape of my own measures
the size of my yearn & the library a forest

of ghost-written glass daily I run my fingers
through the blades emerge cut & resplendent

with words I see that I felt that
              you are not alone & every human I love

shines depthful & limpid as a lake reflecting pieces
of me in creased ripples you who taught me

how to love this hard city you who shaped me
into stalactites of strength I laugh cry whisper

soothe prattle dance through your body your throat
         our shared lives & I write this

words that shimmer with light
the only refulgence I can grasp

one moment at my back my shadow
      on paper I dissolve into dawn

Esther Ra is the author of A Glossary of Light and Shadow (Diode Editions, 2023) and book of untranslatable things (Grayson Books, 2018). Her work has been published in Boulevard, Rattle, The Rumpus, and PBQ, among others, and received numerous awards, including the Pushcart Prize, 49th Parallel Award, Vineyard Literary Award, and Women Writing War Poetry Award. (estherra.com)