There are no mirrors in his room.
Five surgeries have begun
To restore his shrapnelled face,
This map of grafted skin.
Once this face was handsome,
Was kissed by women, looked upon.
On Sunday you will find him here.
Let him say you are his friend.
He will close the blinds,
Turn off the light, and you
Can speak, you can listen to
His voice that has not changed.
—from Rattle #27, Summer 2007