In a few mornings no man will shave in my mirror,
so I lie in misery’s bed and savor that penultimate music:
Razor scrape and the splash of water.
After, fine black hairs ring the basin.
I stand here as if to decode them
like a gypsy girl with her oracle of tea leaves.
Still I know no more why we fail
than I did last night with the moonlight on my back
while he entered me from behind
and the pure faceless weight
of our day’s pain had us both bent
halfwise to near breaking.
How can I marry that?
In a few mornings no man
will shave his beloved face in the mirror.
What then will I stare back at? what toward?
Mary Karr – Viper Rum
For National Poetry Month and in keeping up with NaPoWriMo, which I have slipped already, due to life…………………… I’m sharing a poem from my favorite author, Mary Karr. You can read more about Karr and her memoirs and poetry on The Poetry Foundation page.