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Mirror Sylvia Plath (1961) I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions Whatever I see I swallow immediately Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful— The eye of a god, four-cornered. Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. It is pink, with speckled. I have looked at it so long I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers. Faces and darkness separate us over and over. Now I am a lake. A women bends over me, Searching my results for what she really is. Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon. I see her back and reflect it faithfully. She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands. I am important to her. She comes and goes. Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness. In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old women Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish. Aging The poem “Mirror,” could possibly have two different speakers, One could be the author herself, talking about personal experience. Which I think is the case in this poem or it could be an outsider she is talking about. The poem may b