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Mirrors/srorriM


by Darryl Price



It's weird to be here. I wonder if you 
are here too. You'd probably say oh that 
was years ago. And you would be right. But 
I like the things we believed in then. Some 
of them I still do. You're old I guess. You 
were so pretty and golden in your new 
bathing suit. And I was too skinny from 
smoking too much and eating too little. 
But I was always up for writing you 
another lovesong. I don't know if we had 

troubled minds. We had aching hearts. And there 
didn't seem to be much relief for that. 
But still we laughed a lot. And we knew how 
to take care of each other. That's something. 
I don't like to hear the people calling 
other people monsters. It makes me think 
of broken mirrors. Trees full of them. Stars 
flashing them like knives. Windows on houses 
where no one has seen a living face in 
years. It's weird to be here, incapable 

of talking with you without missing the 
smallest things, except through a bunch of typed 
out words on a computer screen. I used 
to love my typewriter. The way it pressed 
each letter deep into the paper's dough, 
the crowded sentences starting to line 
up like chattering concert goers with 
thrills and unknown expectations in their 
eyes. We held hands once and it seemed like the 
only safe thing that made any real sense 

to me in the world. Now I'm like one of 
those guys walking alone on the beach, no 
big dog, no favorite frisbee, just a 
goofy fishing hat and some sunglasses. 
Not wanting to know what time it is, but 
being able to tell any way by 
the color of the sand and sea. You learn 
a few solid things and try to forget 
everything else. It's weird to be here. I'm 
still me. I wonder if you're still you. The 

you that was the most beautiful person 
in the room of beautiful people. I 
liked looking for you. And I liked finding 
you. It's weird to be here. Now is such a 
far away place to be. And here isn't 
much better. I wanted to say that I'm 
sorry, but I don't know what for. We had 
dreams that came and asked us to get into 
different cars. I didn't want you to 
go with them. I didn't trust them, but I 

trusted you. It's weird to be here. The world 
is still as cruel as a snake. It hasn't 
gotten any kinder. I hope it has 
been kind to you. Weird. But not so wrong I 
suppose. You knew how to smile. Everyone 
said so. I admired that about you. My 
crookedly round face could only try to 
almost get it right, feeling mostly out 
of place in every place, except when I 
was anywhere with you. Not so much a 

miracle, let them say, but we know, it 
was our little secret. It's weird. I made 
it into the poetry papers, but 
you're not here to read them. It's weird to be
here. It's not where I thought I'd be. It's a
rotten town everywhere you go. But I 
wouldn't call it a wasted life. We just
didn't know it would call us to leave each
other forever to the other side
of the moon. But I look up and I smile. 



Bonus poem:


Goodbye Bees by Darryl Price(first unrevised draft)

Try to understand. There were dragons. Some were friendly, but
they were real dragons. You didn't want to end up 
standing on the wrong side of a belch. Try to 
understand. The barefoot woman standing in the grass just outside
her garden gate was perfect for the sun, perfect for 
any wind. Her hair was like a flag calling you 
to enlist your heart into something more noble. Like a
grand slam to the side of the head. Bees barely 
noticed. Birds typed the words you felt, above her head,
high in the clouds, with their sing-song beaks on full 

tattletale throttle. Try to understand. We were boys. We had
never thought more deeply about what we were doing than 
the invitation. Only the adventure itself ever took us farther 
away. Down the stairs. Down the road. Suddenly we were 
holding on for dear life. Trying to understand frustration. This 
was something new. And hurt in ways no gun could 
ever hope to protect us from. Bees elbowed their way 
past our frozen stampede like we were made of daisy 
chains.Try to understand. We were watching paintings come to 
life.Try. We were lovers. Our hands and faces were
 
for us, only for each to see. Bees buzzed around 
everyone's heads. The barefoot woman moved into a beautiful house 
and stayed behind its white picket windows forever. We were 
young dreamers breathing together.You blew my mind. Is this 
the place we made a secret plan to always appreciate 
the bees? The heart breaks. It's a crime. No one 
claims to have seen anything. The heart breaks. No one 
understands. No one comes. Our hands. Our faces. Our bees.
I got on my tiger. What else was I going 
to do? He is now my only friend. Good company.



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