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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476928" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Night In The Wounded Mirror</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The night in the wounded mirror<br>is only a childhood away from my face<br>and there's always a shattered window <br>between me and my starless shining, <br>and a dead bird upturned on the sill<br>as if the sky, too, had its quota of roadkill.<br> <br>Looking back from all these <br>lightyears and constellations away, <br>on the black day I was born under an eclipse <br>like a flower clenched into a fist, <br>an eye without an iris darker than a shark's, <br>I suspect there was a lot more suffering back then <br>than I was able to live my way through, <br>estranged in the corner of a kitchen <br>that was a feeding frenzy of knives.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I still can't leave one out on the counter <br>without fearing it's just another punctuation mark, <br>the claw of a comma in a long sentence of blood.<br>At best, it's the silver scar of the moon <br>that slashed me open like a well-honed loveletter <br>that wasn't meant for me.<br> <br>And I still don't know how to approach <br>the child I was, the child I still am <br>time-travelling through himself like a glacier<br>as if he could put a stop to evolution <br>or survive his extinction <br>by keeping to himself like ice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I look upon his solitude and silence, <br>the unaccusing indictment of his face, <br>like a cold, brass plaque<br>commemorating the unidentifiable victims <br>of an atrocity that can't be understood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He's still seven and I'm looping through sixty <br>like the spine of a calendar <br>shedding me like autumn, <br>a picture of turning leaves on every page, <br>until there's no way of telling what age we are<br>in this season out of time, <br>and I want to love him, I want <br>to say things that could heal us both like water <br>before I take him with me into my grave, <br>but I don't truly know how, <br>and there are secret vows of violation <br>that are taken without a mouth<br>and assassins of intimacy in the shadows <br>and children sleeping in snakepits <br>who make up their own bedtime stories <br>and dream of things that can't be told to anyone<br>who hasn't been devoured in their ancient infancy<br>by the furious innocence of the sea.<br> <br>Dark-hearted jewel <br>of a child in the night, <br>older than light <br>who has made more of me <br>than I can make of him, <br>when I weep for what he knows<br>and will not say, what am I, <br>what are these words <br>in the inky shacks of the trees <br>but the lengthening shadow<br>of the darkness that pours out of him like blood, <br>or duct-tape like moonlight <br>over the mouth of a scream? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And if I come back now <br>like the legend I have made of his sorrow <br>to gather him up in my arms <br>like a harvest under a full moon, <br>and if I sit with him all night <br>without saying anything <br>here on this skull of a rock <br>until each of us is the memory of the other, <br>could it make anything better, <br>would it take the thorn of the moon <br>out of the eye of the dragon <br>that sheds its skin like childhood skies, <br>not knowing where things end, things begin?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476928" data-title="The Night In The Wounded Mirror de Patrick White" data-description="The night in the wounded mirror
is only a childhood away from my face
and there's always a shattered window 
between me and my starless shining, 
and a dead bird upturned on the sill
as if the sky, too, had its quota of roadkill.
 
Looking back fr..."></div>
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