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.