A Mirror Cannot Lie

And what it reflected was not a question anymore

Photo by Jorge Torres on Unsplash

They held a mirror up—
not with the softened light
of diplomacy's rehearsals;
but flat, cold, and true.

Germany reached first
for the word it had sworn to remember: holocaust. 
Britain said: we have seen this weather before.
Canada said: the speed.
Australia quietly asked, 
the question no one wanted formed into language:
will there even be an election in 2028?

Not erosion.
Compression.

The way a body stops
interpreting each symptom separately
and understands, finally,
what it is dealing with.

These are not warnings:
Impeach him.
Do something.
Wake up.
Take back your government.

A mirror does not ask
to be held up.

It was simply there,
in the hands of everyone watching—
Germany, Britain, Canada, Australia,
every country that has ever
stood at this particular cliff edge
and stepped back,

or didn't.

And what it reflected
was not a question anymore.

It was a verdict
being handed down
by witnesses
who are no longer surprised.
No longer afraid for us
the way you are afraid
for a house already on fire,
where the people inside
are still debating
whether they smell smoke.

Unsafe became the word.
Not embarrassing.
Not polarized.
Not messy.
Unsafe.

As in: a condition
that does not stay
inside its borders.
As in: we know what this is.

We have always known.


Thank you so much for being here!
Bee