Living room mirror
Greta Bellamacina

Don’t look at yourself like you're a criminal
it's too glamorous, this house is Godless.
Our child hasn’t learnt his knees
or the broken dreams of the Internet.
There is only our unprescipted love, not even a word yet
but for you it’s Modernism.
I have taken out my arms made them into curtains
the same ones you wrote about
tied up with red ribbons before you came and made me a woman.
Before the dream of lying and breaking girls
the same ones, which makes morning night
and pours anonymous creaks.
Retirement seems too cheap now
contact mussels and special love makes me late now
all related, all eternal like the space under our bed
and the creations of the reborn.