I’ve seen my portrait in a broken mirror, as the bounds of time spell fragments.
The cracked porcelain vase is fruitless. I move neither forward nor in reverse,
for the circle is a dimensional present.

I’ve seen my portrait in a broken mirror, in naked fragility. I fancy Dali’s clock.
My desire is to hold time in my hands like putty, morph it until it screams my name,
until it returns my splitting memory into a roll of film.

I’ve seen my portrait in a broken mirror, growing further from my umbilical beginnings.
I curse the womb wicked, the bottomless sea is more present in my veins.
It has no desire to care for me, only to carry me to rest.

I’ve seen my portrait in a broken mirror, a clock spun backwards, a life lost.
With defeat I learn the most valiant thing a man can be is dead.
The value of existence accrued in stillness.

I’ve seen my portrait in a broken mirror, a man who’s lost mankind.
My body static, my eyes on the hands telling my mind
decomposition determines I will return here, and maybe then, I will find what is home. 

Josh Megson is a poetry and short fiction writer from Albemarle, NC. He is currently a student at UNC Charlotte. He has previously been published in Nova Literary Arts Magazine.