For purposes of display all things are possible.
Just off the escalator the salesgirl’s face contorts:
‘How fast your eyes are falling!’ and on my way home
every pane of glass slips into a mirror,
printing the receipts of a catastrophe.
Between sorcery and science
the only difference is ingredients,
sometimes not even those:
tea leaves, sea foam, mud, wine, honey,
camellias to rub into my hair,
daisies to grind into my fingers.
I pour my breakfast milk in bowls of gold,
the flakes are sharp, and cut me,
but now the under-my-skin is so shiny,
my hands are soft to knock at heavy oak laws
we’ve unlocked with all our prodding –
unlocked but not opened, and from behind them
we can just make out the slow, steady,
unsavory beating of one plus one plus one…
Notes on this poem
This poem is inspired by Holub’s ‘Žito the Magician’ and by a saleswoman’s comment that I needed to buy better eye cream to take care of the lines around my eyes. It made me think about how cosmetics are sometimes described as ‘magic’, but deal with something which ultimately is inevitable. All the ingredients mentioned in my poem are used in real cosmetic products.