Transformative, the mirror shows a me I hardly recognize—an evil twin, a raging doppelgänger. She-devil’s eyes glow like fired glass. What’s got me so unstrung? Boom box? Or car door slammed against the silence that’s my one safe space? I run inside; but the cave still echoes with a world I must find my way back to, call and response spiraling through time and urging me to follow. It might have been a dark conspiracy that set these walls to ringing. Or I might have missed a pleasant strain. It might have been someone singing.
Jane Marston lives in Athens, Georgia, where she has spent many months learning to live with Misophonia, an OCD spectrum disorder marked by a dysfunctional response to certain sounds. In prior years, she has published poetry in journals including Southern Humanities Review, Birmingham Poetry Review, Blood & Fire Review, and Crucible.