BLOCKED
This morning the mirror
caught my eyes,
and I locked gaze
with the creature staring
back at me, wondering,
as I sometimes do,
what would happen
if I opted not to claim her.
If I chose a different identity
would the mirror recognize
my sovereignty
or would it keep reflecting back
this worn face,
these lips closed
tight against all the words
knocking up against
my clenched teeth,
the half formed stories,
shards of poems
pushing hard
to get out
as living things do
when imprisoned.
Instinct favors survival.
It’s a wonder we write at all,
any of us,
with the hundred
duties and the
thousand doubts
almost conspiring against
our hands,
which,
reaching for a pen,
find a text,
a child’s needs,
three missed calls,
a basket of laundry,
a long to-do list
instead.
–Melinda Coppola