The Silver Woman

I remind myself I am in the city where civilization started,
that I am a woman and that I have a name. I remember
my name. Remembering does not stop my dance.
I raise my head and round my lips
opening all the mouths of the silver woman's body
till she is no longer in front of me, till I swallow her
into my own body. The mirror is broken.
I know now I carry a woman inside me,
someone who was thrown into a mirror.
I don't know if I should act as if I were crazy.

Swing, maybe. I grasp my knees, move my body
back and forth. I feel the dizziness of a wild dance.
I press my head to my knees and smell even the intimate
odors of my body. The woman is beautiful.
How can a beautiful woman suffer so much imprisoned
in that mirror? She looks at me while I dance,
touches the corners of the mirror to touch me.

I had to be scared, but I don't remember.
I had surrendered all my senses of logic to be calm
in front of her. I want to give her space to exist.
In the obscurity of the hall, in the midst
of a strange cloud of dust, I sit like a student
on the rug looking up to the tall woman
in front of me. But she inclines her body
to resemble my height. I am motionless,
legs crossed, hands poised on my knees, each side
with each side and I look at her eyes and think
what would I do if I were crazy.

I walk slowly. Nothing to do yet I find no rest.
My own voice coming from the outside says Mira.
In front of me, mirrors. As my body quiets,
a woman is forming her body out of smoke: her contours,
her wide hips, her long arms stretching
as if she had been bent for ages. A silver woman
moving her petrified soundless lips.

I started to walk down the narrow hall
of this cheap hotel when I felt my head bending,
my eyes facing the navy-blue rug. I started counting
the dots of dirt like fat in an open skin.
I think, how would I act if I were crazy.

-Mairym Cruz-Bernal, from "On her face, the light of La Luna