Poetry Issue 1

   Issue#1: Oct. - Dec. 2002

Kristine Domingo


The Forbidden

After Paradise Lost


      We are kids, we are told
      once not to touch
      the surface of a mirror.

      And the mirror is still,
      and each morning my reflection
      stills before it, against your image,

      as your reason sits you behind, without
      a word, by your own pool you have
      yet to conjure up the name of.

      For you would rather not see
      what you cannot name - feeling
      of your vision cupped in your palms.

      To see you like this, sound, thinking, is to feel
      a thumb down your body, shattering the safe.