Silvering

The light in the hallway gave out with a pop,

leaving the shadows to wander and stop.

I lean toward the sink in the bathroom’s dim glow,

watching a version of me I don't know.

The scowl on my mouth is my father’s old ghost,

the thing about him that I hated the most.

The glass is decaying, the silver is gone,

flaking like skin in the light of the dawn.