Let Me See my Face by Christina Cannon

Let Me See my Face

by Christina Cannon

Let me see my face.

Hold up the mirror.

I said hold it up.

Higher, a little higher.

There. And would you please turn up

the volume on the

headphones

attached to the machine

that’s attached to the

microphone

in front of my mouth.

Thank you, that is all.

But wait, you

set the mirror on

the shelf. How

am I supposed to see it

when I walk around

the room,

headphone cord

wrapping around

microphone cord w

rapping around my body?

Wait. Don’t

go, I need you here

to hold up

the mirror

as I move through

the light by the window

through the dark corner

by the bathroom door.

Wait, I look different here, by

the window, see?

Let me see, can I see?

And here, with the light bouncing off

the hard metal floor and

shining on my face

from the bottom

like a flashlight under a

chin in the woods

in the past.

If you go, how will

I see myself?

Who will keep

the microphone plugged in

to the machine plugged in

to my headphones?

You. You dropped the mirror.

Anger, jealousy, why?

No one ever

holds up the mirror for as long

as you did

keeps the microphone p

lugged in

as long.

Now, all I see

is your angry, pleading face

lit from the bottom

like from a flashlight

in the woods

when all I saw was

your face, heard you

laughing and moaning like a ghost

instead of the

almost silent rush of noise-cancelling

white noise

in my ears,

in my head between my ears,

down my spine.