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THE MIRROR
The men work at their task of demolition
behind the mask
of high wooden barriers.
The broken bricks and other debris
are accompanied by a fine dust
that floats in the air
like delicate apparitions
from the turn of the century.
Now there is naked space
where before
stood a noble old family house, three stories high,
The barriers, nearly always closed tightly,
were left open today,
and through the narrow aperture
I could see, mapped on the walls
of the surrounding buildings
the ghosts of high ceilings, ample bedrooms.
Toward the street, in what was once the second floor,
set in a molded plaster frame,
a huge mirror, impossible to remove
without shattering.
A mirror! How many faces, figures, laughter and tears
are locked in the magic memory
of that cracked glass, starred by a careless blow,
but still elegantly entire?
Poor Mirror, prisoner of its ruin,
its refined French salon destroyed,
hanging two floors
above nothingness!
There are many beautiful old townhouses from the 1900’s and before in Buenos Aires which are torn down to make way for apartment buildings. I see them in my neighborhood as I go about my daily business, and they always touch my heart. This last one inspired the following poem. - Sue Littleton
Sue Littleton has been writing for 50 years. Her experiences come from a sheep ranch in West Texas to the sophisticated capital of Argentina,
and from 18 years in Buenos Aires to Austin,Texas.
A college education is a wonderful thing. She graduated at age 57. Her poetry returned to her with intense joy and a range unknown before
the mind-dazzling experiences of undergraduate studies.
Email: Sue Littleton
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