What did I really see this day?
—John O’Donohue

•••

I saw the day break into a thousand
crystal shards when my spot on the planet

rolled into sunshine, scrolling up like
movie credits, light refracting into

sleepy eyes that would much rather
be closed on a horizontal body, still

tucked into clean cotton sheets newly
applied. I saw the day cast newborn

light on the last of the roses heavy
on stems, further weighted with dew

reflecting the morning. And as I peered
closely at a thousand tiny drops,

I saw my face, one I’ll never perceive
in three dimensions, only the flattened

two of a paltry reflection at best.
I cannot see myself as others do,

but I try not to think of it as a
less-than-lovely face, as we so often do—

disliking the shape of the nose, or
noting that one eyelid droops more than

the other or (no escaping this) visible
signs of aging. I try to remember that

others see this face as beloved, just as
their sweet countenances have endeared

themselves to me. What I saw this day
was my own face reflected in perfect

drops atop a crimson rose petal that will
droop and die far sooner than I would like.

Which is why the reminder surfaces
again—to consider this a calling, to

transfigure what has hardened in me,
to praise the passing beauty my

limited sight beholds, the heart of
creativity that I see in the mirror,

so fortunately loved by many,
this one I call me.