Mark, reading this felt like watching a very quiet moment of truth unfold. The kind where no one raises their voice, yet something inside a person shifts forever. What stayed with me wasn’t the power itself, but the recognition you describe. That strange instant when we see ourselves clearly, without our usual defenses, and realise the heart has already chosen before the mind can argue. There’s something almost ceremonial in the way you describe that surrender, not as defeat but as a conscious giving of oneself to a moment that feels undeniable. It carries that mysterious side of being human: how sometimes the deepest turning points happen in silence, in a gaze, in the honest acknowledgement of what the soul has already recognised.
Thank you for such a thoughtful reading. I’m really glad that quiet turning point came through for you.
I was trying to stay inside that moment where nothing outwardly dramatic happens, yet something internal settles into place. The recognition arrives first, almost ahead of language, and the mind is still trying to negotiate with it while the body already knows.
I like how you described it as ceremonial. That’s very close to how it felt while writing it — a kind of conscious yielding to something that has already become true.
Those silent shifts can be the most decisive ones in life, even if nothing in the room appears to change.
This took me by surprise. Here the mirror becomes the true accomplice. Not her. Not even desire. The mirror forces the narrator to witness the moment where resistance dissolves into recognition. That’s what makes the scene so compelling: nothing is taken. Everything is seen.
What struck me most is the line “My spine lost its argument.”
That’s such an intimate way to describe surrender; not humiliation, but the body finally conceding to a truth the mind was trying to outrun.
And her stillness… that’s the real gravity of the poem. She doesn’t conquer. She exists with certainty, and that certainty reorganizes the room.
To me, the poem isn’t really about domination at all.
It’s about the terrifying clarity of realizing that the moment you feared losing control… was actually the moment you recognized where you wanted to belong.
Thank you for such a careful reading Dipti. I really appreciate it ☺️
The mirror as accomplice was very much the “subtle” device — the moment where the narrator can’t hide from himself anymore, and everything is seen from all angles.
I’m also really glad “my spine lost its argument” stood out to you. I was trying to capture the body, conceding to something the mind was still debating. Sometimes our bodies know way before our minds have a chance to catch up.
You’re spot on with belonging. It might not feel that way through the post, but I wanted an ending that was inclusive and belonging felt the perfect way to close it.
Mark, that makes the mirror even more brilliant as a device, the moment it becomes an accomplice is the moment the narrator can’t hide from himself anymore.
And “my spine lost its argument” really does linger. The body conceding to a truth the mind is still debating, that’s such a deeply human moment.
I’m also glad you closed with belonging. It turns the reckoning into something almost generous.
Moving from slight discomfort, maybe even resistance, to recognition, almost paralysis, to breaking, that total surrender, and then the crescendo of choosing. Wow. 'She didn’t move. That was the violence.' Her persistence, her knowing, her holding the room, holding the moment with nothing more than her presence. That was powerful for me. We want anger or kindness, anything to soften the undeniable. But she knew. And who can run from the truth, even when we're free to run.
I love how you follow the arc here and felt it as you read through.
I found when writing, maybe the strongest thing that can be done is nothing, and relying on presence alone to provide that control. That desire to show physical forms, such as kindness and anger, seems almost ingrained, yet mere presence makes it feel more stark and powerful.
You’ve captured the realisation at the end beautifully — who can run from truth, even if we’re free to.
Thank you for such a wonderful reading and you have a new sub now too 🤗
Gosh! Thank you for making my day even brighter than the sun streaming through the blinds! My heart’s doing cartwheels.:) But first, you’re more than welcome. As writer to writer, words that grab hold of us, that say “stop, feel, absorb,” words whose truth is stark yet safe, are the words that awaken us, that make us who we are and why we write. No?
I wrote it thinking of how some people just have a presence about them — an air almost, that seems to control the very air around them when they’re close.
Thanks also for the feedback on the image. It felt just right for the piece.
Mark, reading this felt like watching a very quiet moment of truth unfold. The kind where no one raises their voice, yet something inside a person shifts forever. What stayed with me wasn’t the power itself, but the recognition you describe. That strange instant when we see ourselves clearly, without our usual defenses, and realise the heart has already chosen before the mind can argue. There’s something almost ceremonial in the way you describe that surrender, not as defeat but as a conscious giving of oneself to a moment that feels undeniable. It carries that mysterious side of being human: how sometimes the deepest turning points happen in silence, in a gaze, in the honest acknowledgement of what the soul has already recognised.
Dear Urvasi,
Thank you for such a thoughtful reading. I’m really glad that quiet turning point came through for you.
I was trying to stay inside that moment where nothing outwardly dramatic happens, yet something internal settles into place. The recognition arrives first, almost ahead of language, and the mind is still trying to negotiate with it while the body already knows.
I like how you described it as ceremonial. That’s very close to how it felt while writing it — a kind of conscious yielding to something that has already become true.
Those silent shifts can be the most decisive ones in life, even if nothing in the room appears to change.
Thank you kindly 😊
This took me by surprise. Here the mirror becomes the true accomplice. Not her. Not even desire. The mirror forces the narrator to witness the moment where resistance dissolves into recognition. That’s what makes the scene so compelling: nothing is taken. Everything is seen.
What struck me most is the line “My spine lost its argument.”
That’s such an intimate way to describe surrender; not humiliation, but the body finally conceding to a truth the mind was trying to outrun.
And her stillness… that’s the real gravity of the poem. She doesn’t conquer. She exists with certainty, and that certainty reorganizes the room.
To me, the poem isn’t really about domination at all.
It’s about the terrifying clarity of realizing that the moment you feared losing control… was actually the moment you recognized where you wanted to belong.
Quiet. Controlled. Unsettling in the best way. ✨
Thank you for such a careful reading Dipti. I really appreciate it ☺️
The mirror as accomplice was very much the “subtle” device — the moment where the narrator can’t hide from himself anymore, and everything is seen from all angles.
I’m also really glad “my spine lost its argument” stood out to you. I was trying to capture the body, conceding to something the mind was still debating. Sometimes our bodies know way before our minds have a chance to catch up.
You’re spot on with belonging. It might not feel that way through the post, but I wanted an ending that was inclusive and belonging felt the perfect way to close it.
Glad I surprised you!
Mark, that makes the mirror even more brilliant as a device, the moment it becomes an accomplice is the moment the narrator can’t hide from himself anymore.
And “my spine lost its argument” really does linger. The body conceding to a truth the mind is still debating, that’s such a deeply human moment.
I’m also glad you closed with belonging. It turns the reckoning into something almost generous.
And yes… I do enjoy being surprised. ☺️
Thanks! and Boo!
👻👻👻👻👻
Haha!
So good.
Thank you Sarah! 💛
Beautifully written… I felt the ache!
Thank you Anna and glad it came through 😊
Some moments do not knock. They sit quietly in the room until the soul notices them. Beautiful piece.
Thank you, Belindra and beautifully said 💛
Moving from slight discomfort, maybe even resistance, to recognition, almost paralysis, to breaking, that total surrender, and then the crescendo of choosing. Wow. 'She didn’t move. That was the violence.' Her persistence, her knowing, her holding the room, holding the moment with nothing more than her presence. That was powerful for me. We want anger or kindness, anything to soften the undeniable. But she knew. And who can run from the truth, even when we're free to run.
Wow Petra.
I love how you follow the arc here and felt it as you read through.
I found when writing, maybe the strongest thing that can be done is nothing, and relying on presence alone to provide that control. That desire to show physical forms, such as kindness and anger, seems almost ingrained, yet mere presence makes it feel more stark and powerful.
You’ve captured the realisation at the end beautifully — who can run from truth, even if we’re free to.
Thank you for such a wonderful reading and you have a new sub now too 🤗
Gosh! Thank you for making my day even brighter than the sun streaming through the blinds! My heart’s doing cartwheels.:) But first, you’re more than welcome. As writer to writer, words that grab hold of us, that say “stop, feel, absorb,” words whose truth is stark yet safe, are the words that awaken us, that make us who we are and why we write. No?
Very intimate, powerful poem. Very lovely!
Thank you Alicia! 😊
"She owned the air." Damn! What a line. I love the image too. So simple yet powerful.
Hehe!
Thank you Kate!
I wrote it thinking of how some people just have a presence about them — an air almost, that seems to control the very air around them when they’re close.
Thanks also for the feedback on the image. It felt just right for the piece.
Dear Mark,
This is extremely powerful and evocative..Such a beautifully written exploration of inner transformation and the strength of presence my friend.
Thank you for reading Aaliya and for such kind words.
Strength of presence is exactly the way the words wanted to take me, and I’m so pleased that came through for you 😊
The carpet met my knees harder than I expected did a lotttt of work...
Hehe - That’s a soft hard landing!
Thank you Asuka 😊💛😊
You crushed it here! I am also crumbling ...
Thank you Margaret!
Crumbling in the best of ways I hope 💛😊💛
Absolutely!
💛
A cinematic poem, Mark. You brought us into that poignant moment of honest reflection that feels tender, raw and yet remains softly poetic.
Thank you for such kind words Ana. I’m glad the tenderness came though, rather than just tension 💛
Wow..that was intense in such a beautifully climatic way! ❤️👍🏼
Thank you so much, Jennifer.
Really pleased you likee the piece, and the ending!💛💛💛
Simply incredible