We are both cast
inside our glass chambers
displaying for the other.
You reach into my vitrine
shake off the dust
and flip on the back light
my eyes dart towards the glass
at the passers-by.
But there is only my reflection
and you sweeping in
catching me off balance,
you in my shadow box
frames and all
tipping the edges
as I swirl in your glance.
The passers-by no longer exist
it is only us
rearranging the backdrop
just in time
before the light switches off
and you have to re-enter
your vitrine
untouched
frames in place
no fingerprints on the pane.
This is a reprint of work originally published in Wilderness House Literary Review.
Loukia M. Janavaras is from Minneapolis, MN and currently resides in Athens, Greece. Her poem ‘White’ was published in J.D. Vine Publications’ The Creative Writer in 2008 and in 2010 she received an Honourable Mention in the Writer’s Digest 79th Annual Writing Competition for ‘The Neighbour’ in the Memoirs/Personal Essay category.
