Silvering

The bulb over the sink finally died.

Now the only light comes from the hall,

casting a long, yellow shadow across the tile.

The mirror is a cheap, thin sheet of glass

held up by four plastic clips.

I looked in today and saw a ghost

with my own jawline, distorted and strange.

There’s a splatter of toothpaste near the top,

dried into a white constellation of spots

that I haven't bothered to wipe away.

It’s easier to look at the mess

than at the person standing behind it.