Snow White Sees the Mirror by Elizabeth Burk

Is that a strand of gray you see? 
     What does the mirror say, if not that you are 

not what you seem to be, not what 
     you think? You are vapor

poured into a vase, delivered 
     in smoke and sharp angles, a wolf 

in bear’s skin, howling and hairy 
     sharp-mouthed, tongue-tied

to another face in the distance, 
     a leopard king, a goat. Which animal 

within you will appear without skin, 
     without a furnace to contain your rage? 

Where is the mantle to keep your calm?
     Where is your crown?

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Elizabeth Burk is a psychologist who divides her time between a practice in New York and a home in southwest Louisiana. She is the author of three collections: Learning to Love Louisiana, Louisiana Purchase. and Duet—Photographer and Poet, a collaboration with her photographer husband. Her poems have appeared in Atlanta Review, Rattle, Calyx, The Southern Poetry Anthology, About Place, Naugatuck River Review, Gyroscope, Louisiana Literature, Passager and elsewhere.