You can’t step twice into the same mirror,
said Heraclitus, of the river’s mirror.
A vessel holding water was the first mirror.
A mirror held to nostrils, life’s last mirror.
“Who is fairest?” the queen asked her mirror.
A vampire has no reflection in a mirror.
Those backward letters without a mirror
spell AMBULANCE in your rear-view mirror.
After Mom died, I covered all the mirrors
with cloth, sat seven days without mirrors.
Staring at myself staring in my mirror,
“I” became the “other” in the mirror.
Watching themselves making love in the mirror,
they were aroused by the couple in the mirror.
The amputee stood at an angle that mirrored
his phantom limb, now visible, mirrored.
In the Arnolfini Wedding Portrait’s mirror,
its painter is a figure in that convex mirror.
A palindrome is another kind of mirror
like the couplets in a ghazal’s mirror.
Her beloved’s eyes were her only mirror.
Seven bad years when he broke a mirror.
I avoid, when I can, cruel three-way mirrors.
“Mute surfaces,” Borges called mirrors.
As Vanity combs her long hair in the mirror,
an old bald skull awaits in the mirror.
Standing between two facing mirrors,
I shrank down a long hallway of mirrors.
Which Jane are you? I asked my mirror.
My mirror answered, Ask another mirror.
This poem appeared in the April 19, 2012 issue of the magazine.