Before you begin, please be aware that this track does not end.
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Find a large, unframed mirror. Or, if you don’t have mirrors, find something like one: smooth, flat, and reflective, with superstitions silvered in.
Beat it with the most vulnerable part of your body. If you are having trouble deciding what to use, ask yourself: what would you least want me to touch?
Continue until the mirror breaks. Then, continue until it breaks many times.
Continue until you can tell that your body part is badly hurt. Keep going. When you regain consciousness, resume.
On the sixth day, stop. Search for the brightest, clearest light you can imagine. The light should at first feel welcome, and joyous. Then, as you realize that it is slightly more garish than you would like and moreover that it never fades, it riddles your body with a ringing.
Carry each fragment, shard, and piece into this light. Do not clean the parts. Arrange them into a shape resembling the original shape of the mirror.
If you are not already naked, become naked now.
Lie on the fragments. Try not to add more injuries to your body.
Feel the light reflect into heat. As you blister, consider the way that on Earth, every night, in the absence of sunlight, tree branches move up and down so that the water inside of the trees keeps moving, creating a kind of heartbeat that is surer than any you will ever know.
Copyright © 2021 by Sumita Chakraborty. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on January 20, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.