this morning shaving
By Matthew R. Gleckman

black flecks fall
and cling
to cream porcelain,
flaking and falling
under pressure
from razor, thumb
and forefinger,
pinching and pushing
with memories
of their own:
the slight flick of hand,
gentle pressure
applied over curving
chin thrust forward
pulling tight the skin
and the sudden
burn of water and blade
scraping away at
three-days growth.
in the mirror
i see my father's face,
dead now for a week.
tomorrow, i will
grow back my beard.


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