The old man in the mirror, with the face of an artichoke, spies on me with eighteen-year old eyes. I watch him unwrap his white doctor’s coat only to reveal a smock covered in brushstrokes, its pockets burdened with crumpled notes written to himself in disguise. Perhaps he wonders what people will say after we’ve died, all these unreliable lives fleeing a single body. We … Continue reading Palimpsest by Michael Salcman