The Mirror Has No Notes (Narcissistic Philautia)

Lyrics

The mirror has no notes.
No corrections in the margin.
It offers no suggestions for improvement.
It is a perfect audience.
Silent. Attentive.

I find it in the window of the B train at dusk, my face laid over the lights of Queens.
I find it on the polished surface of the black granite countertop.
In the chrome of the faucet.
In the still, dark surface of my morning coffee before I stir it.
Some people’s eyes are mirrors, too.
The young ones, mostly.
Before they have a face of their own.
They offer back a better version of me. Unblinking.

And the mirror has no notes.
It never argues. It only agrees.
What I wish for, I have.
My very plenty makes me poor.
I burn with love for my own self.
A clean, efficient fire.

People talk, and I listen for the echo.
The part of my own sentence that they choose to repeat.
It's the only part that matters.
The rest is just noise between reflections.
Ovid wrote about a boy who knelt by a pool in Boeotia.
He died of thirst, looking at his own face.
A prophet told him he'd live forever, as long as he never knew himself.
A terrible joke. A technicality.

And the mirror has no notes.
It never argues. It only agrees.
What I wish for, I have.
My very plenty makes me poor.
I burn with love for my own self.
A clean, efficient fire.

They say a flower grew where he died.
The Narcissus.
Its head is always bowed, as if looking for something in the water.
I had some sent from the florist on Tuesday.
They sit on the mantel.
They are also perfect.
They don't need praise. Just water.
They tell me they're poisonous if you eat them.
A beautiful thing you cannot take inside.

The light is failing now.
The reflection in the glass is getting stronger.
Deeper.
It has my full attention.
And it has no notes.
Not one.