Author’s note:
I tried to get Meryl Streep to read this for me, but she wasn’t available—so you’re stuck with me.
The recording was a personal challenge, and I’m glad I followed through. Still, I believe my written words resound more clearly than my spoken ones. Nonetheless, I offer you both here.
This poem was born from a moment of deep resonance while reading Pádraig Ó Tuama’s Substack post, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at Form.”
His reflections stirred something in me—not just a response, but an invitation. An invitation to reflect on how we shape our lives, our words, and the silences in between.
His work pays homage to Wallace Stevens’ “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” a poem that opens multiple lenses through which to see the world. In that spirit, I wrote my own response: a poem that listens, that leans in, and that dares to reflect.
What follows is my own thirteen ways—a humble echo across time, shaped by the voices that moved me.
P.S. Follow the trail of italicized words in Thirteen Ways I Reflect and let me know if it changes your view of the poem.
Enjoy!
Thirteen Ways I Reflect: Mirror, Mirror
When I look, I do not see me.
I.
I’ve seen things.
I’ve seen you–
Each and every one of you.
Have you seen me at all?
II.
Ask the mirror or rather not.
Looking in I see.
It’s you looking back at me.
Me not seeing me.
III.
In the mirror, you’ve moved on.
Your mother now I see.
What are you trying to say to me?
I laugh. No, not me.
IV.
On fallen hope, you appear again.
I see some of you in me.
I understood more than I should.
But never will I see.
V.
The hand that gave the mirror–
The hand that wouldn’t hold–
You failed him first …
and then you failed me.
VI.
Reflecting from the wall it hangs.
Something haunts within.
I force myself to hold my stare.
Nothing familiar therein.
VII.
Who’s that looking back at me?
Show me, if you dare.
Shattered fragments, memories.
Tell me if you care.
VIII.
In the end, I’ll have to see.
But you must see me first.
It’s not fair to look at you
reflecting all that’s past.
IX.
Fairest was all that mattered here.
I was just your need.
Do not demand I look at you.
You will not like what I see.
X.
Of course, you reflect most willingly.
Of course, you distort the truth.
What did you expect when you looked at me?
Or did you … look at me?
XI.
In them I see the wrinkles.
In me I spill the blush.
Clear signs of the wear and tear.
How could I ever trust?
XII.
All along,
I’ve seen things.
XIII.
If you won’t see me.
I don’t see me.
Em ees t’nod I.
