Nina Rubinstein Alonso’s poems appeared in The New Yorker, Bagel Bards, U. Mass. Review, Ploughshares, Ibbetson Street, etc. and her book This Body was published by David Godine Press. Her stories were in Broadkill Review and Southern Women’s Review, was once a pushcart nominee, and she edits Constellations A Journal of Poetry and Fiction: www.constellations-lit.com.
Draped Mirrors
the relatives sit squeezing tissues
looking at the hollow place
where Aunt Rose used to be
now her gold-edged photo
smiles from the piano
and every mirror’s draped
with white towels
I remember her laugh
her hands stirring pots of sauce
wide fingers winking diamonds
now lights are dim
gems gifted to daughters
glasses folded blind in a drawer
and it’s right that mirrors
sleep through haunted hours
wrapped in layers of cloth
so the dead can’t try to step out
or the living find a way to slip in.
— Nina Rubinstein Alonso
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