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Coriolis Effect

September 1, 2019

 Coriolis Effect

 

At the end of the beginning

she’d watch him while he watched water

circling slow and counterclockwise

down the white sink, the silver drain.

She saw, in those slow hours watching,

that his eyes never met the mirror.

He didn’t see his reflected eyes.

But she could see all. All the same.

In another room, news was braying

evil from elsewhere. That caught her

ear for trouble. She had to try

that anywhere. That much was plain.

She scrubbed the white sink, wiping

clockwise. A reversed dome appeared

in the mirror. She saw her tired eyes,

heard his thick sleep—heavy, tamed

by wine. It wasn’t the only thing

she heard. The cold news from nowhere

echoed behind her musical sighs.

Her hope, rescue. Her escape.

She looked away—sent for silver wings.

She prayed to the clock that he’d hear

her exit. That he’d find his eyes.

That this other battle would keep her sane.

She’d be back to watch his ending,

transfixed before the dusty mirror.

The stopped clock might make him wise.

Her tears circle the sink—cool as rain.

 

—Mark J. Mitchell

 

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