The Place With Wings | ✓

the eyes of the mountain

the bathroom is tiled
black and white on the floor
and there is gray-green wallpaper
chipping near the windowsill
a dim painting of koi fish
stares unblinkingly at the mirror
which is fogged over
due to the mist whispering
smoky fingers of vapor
through the small open window
which sings a high, sparkling tune
with its rusting hinges of bronze,
swinging back and forth.
the tiny bathroom is lined
with the intoxicating fog
that smells like pine and fresh rain
if you look out the window,
you can study the mountains
for hours on end
great old trees
spilling off the shoulders
and elbows and collarbones
of high-browed, proud mountains
beckoning to the weak-willed
with stories of girls
that slip into the trees
and disappear into different worlds
dipping into imaginations
the same gray-green
of that tiny little bathroom.
a girl stands inside
peering into the misting mirror
wondering if she can see herself
her real self
past the ripped jeans
and streaky mascara
chipped nails
and an aching heart.
she closes camera-shutter eyes
resting her palms
on the cracked marble sink
and takes a deep, traitorous breath
of the mountain air
trying to get a hold
of her own soul
just a taste of magic
to pull herself together.
the door is locked behind her
because the bathroom
with its intoxicating mist
and temptations of forest mountains
is also a wondrous place to hide—
with only the fir trees afar
as witnesses.