A Pome a Day for a Year

On the cusp of teenager
free standing mirror looming
like weeping willow,
reflecting turquoise, sienna, ruby
and sadness,
crystal droplets forming in small crevices
next to dimpled lines,
and quivering lip.

“You’re too old for it, you have to get rid,”

But why?
Why does this happen?
Who would it hurt? (Other than him?)
Comforting, cosy, contained,
a cocoon of power, a shell of strength,
more than a coat,
an identity, a feeling of security.

When it vanishes,
when it is taken away,
he will lose a part of himself,
and he will only realise three decades later.