Self-Portrait in the Bathroom Mirror
by Mary Jo Bang
Issue no. 216 (Spring 2016)

Some days, everything is a machine, by which I mean 
remove any outer covering and you will most likely 
find component parts: cogs and wheels that whir just 
like an artificial heart, a girl in a red cap redacting 
the sky, fish that look like blimps and fishlike blimps, 
an indifferent lighthouse that sweeps the horizon. 
I wasn’t a child for long, and after I wasn’t, I was 
something else. I was this. And that. A blast furnace, 
a steel maze inside, the low-level ­engine room of an 
ocean liner. My eye repeats horizontally what I by 
this time ­already know: there is no turning back to 
be someone I might have been. Now there will only 
ever be multiples of me.

Julian Bream ~ Music of the 20th Century