Stranger

Robert Auld

 

When I tell my friend I’m thinking of dropping

acid on my twentieth birthday, she tells me not

to look at myself in any mirrors.

 

We’re laying on the grass of a park in our hometown

where I still live and I ask if she knows me

at all, of course I want mirrors.

 

I look at myself in one later; she asks

if I want a half-off piercing. Waiting,

we look through books of tattoos and she tells

 

a story: a friend of a friend dropped acid,

looked in the mirror, and saw a stranger.

I don’t need acid for that. I look at myself

 

later. By the silver of the ring on my nose

I see the reflection of the ring like a strand

of hair. My twentieth birthday comes.

 

I cover the mirrors.

 

 


Robert Auld is a senior at Salem State University. His poems appear or are forthcoming in BALDHIP Magazine, Soundings East, and half mystic. With Sophie Klahr, he co-curates Teen Sequins, an annual online feature spotlighting younger poets. He is on Twitter @robbyauld.