Maybe it was carelessness or
maybe it was an omen
when her elbow caught the small mirror
balanced on the sink
and it shattered on the floor.
Twenty minutes late to work,
she stood and stared at it, thinking
Bending over, she tried to count the pieces...
20? 30? 50?
And as she counted she saw herself reflected
over and over,
this bit of her face, then that.
Her right eye here, part of her lips there...
she could see her lips mouthing the numbers,
"16, 17, 18", as she counted the shards.
Does breaking mean rebirth?
Does shattering mean the creation of other selves,
the ability to see yourself from multiple angles?
Do we really have to be broken before we can be set free?
She only stopped counting when
she was finally distracted
by innumerable reflected lights
dancing on the bathroom walls.