Finding Myself At fifty plus the morning shave was invariably something i did from a distance standing in the shower alcove three metres across the bathroom from the mirror to squint at a rough reflection of my father confident that i knew the contours of my face & neck always careful to avoid the sebaceous cyst below my right earlobe the one that always proved a mountain could be made out of a molehill if i passed over it with the triple blade a touch too heavy always having to make sure the tiny bump of a scar below my lip didn’t get too close & turn the shaving cream red & cause me to snarl & swear but now at fifty-eight with a major neck dissection done two weeks ago the left side of my neck muscle removed the thirty metal staples gone — the scar starting to heal i find myself frosting the mirror with my own breath my cheeks now sallow & slack after surgery still too tentative (even with my glasses on) to sweep away the morning stubble & once again i’m a young boy my strokes deliberate & planned while in the mirror my father’s blue eyes squint — & watch every move.

 

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