The skin on her face twists and wrinkles.

Form, fitting, fluttering, flying on waves of sound,

As she laughs into my phoned in reflection.

She laughed like this before she saw my reflection.

The old man trapped inside a young body without wrinkles.

She laughed like this inside my head as she beat herself against the outside sound.

Though she has stayed silent for many years I will no longer deny her sound.

She looks at me, a single windowed face on her phone seeing past her own reflection.

She laughs until the tear lines fade, until the stains give way to timed wrinkles,

And all the anguished wrinkles echo a sound like a still pools mirror.

© 2016 Jared “I.J” Steinberg. All Rights Reserved.

#poetry