Rippled Reflection

"she looks down to find the familiar"

Reflection forms as she forces herself to stare at the simple mirror. The beauty is lost to her, stolen by her disillusioned vision. Tears come to her eyes again, just as they always have. She blinks in an attempt to fight them back, but they come.  Her sight is washed, it is almost impossible to see, but still a movement is caught. She watches as the glass cries with her. It mimics each newly formed streak causing the image to flow off the silver backing and gather in a pool on the floor. Just a frame remains, her emotions leaving the mirror now bare and blank, ready for endless possibilities. Still, her mind remains blinded. She gazes at nothing, she is alone and scared, so she looks down to find the familiar.  Nothing has changed. Her likeness floats upon the puddle and she sees no beauty. Emotion collects in her eyes and the barrier that was built can no longer hold back the flood.  Droplets pelt the mirage creating a ripple of distortion and change. Reflection forms as she forces herself to stare at the simple waves.  Beautiful.

- Dennis Birtch

Photo: Unknown

Painted Footsteps (Work in Progress)

"I leave steps of wondrous dreams"

Suppressed by a pedestal in which no statue resides, I regard a blank slate where once there was inspiration. I struggle for breath against the weight that only emptiness offers. With my body unmoving, my sight soon finds focus.  I watch as words begin to run down the sides as undertones of fresh paint are being drizzled against its surface.  Each slow moving drip brings with it the colors of my imagination.  No clear pattern seems to exist, every newly formed streak in itself a possibility. Refusing to remain solitary in direction, colors of thought seek out others. Defying the basic law that demands a straight descent, I could sense a whimsical contemplation nudge some to take a curvature that slides it into another. Free flowing verse after verse is formed. What once were just dripping words have become waves that smash downward breaking against what is holding me static. Gasping, breaths are caught as I struggle to be free from this bondage. I can feel the colors around me wanting to be my guide. I reach out and to my surprise I find an edge.  Barley grasping with fingers I force myself upwards. Tearing free I emerge up through the colors until I am standing in a puddle of self discovery and from it I leave steps of wondrous dreams as I turn my back and walk away.   

- Dennis Birtch