View Archives by:


Self-Portrait As an Echo

Ivy Kleinbart

I was only able to see you in mirrors
so your image wasn’t constant
or clear.

When steam from a hot tap
streaked the glass and the walls swelled,
you disappeared.

In the park, I looked up
from a slate of pond you leaned over
and found you again, through rippled pupils.

You were handing out leaflets on the corner;
I was the only taker. I reached
for a copy, our hands never touched.

We locked eyes in a storefront window
as you passed, alarmed at the warps
but pretending disinterest.

Now, when I waver at an entrance,
you walk ahead and check the gate.

We sit opposite each other on the subway,
always on the verge of recognition.

Ivy Kleinbart

Read Bio

Author Discusses Poems