Tin Men

All the iris, in bloom,
a purple field, a freak
snow blizzard in a town
named TOTO. In a small house,
too little for people,
the girl looks for herself
behind mirrors. For years,
no one has taken the garbage out;
the girl is covered with dust,
wispy, discarded onion skins.
On the wall, a note to herself-
ALWAYS KEEP YOUR EYES CLOSED.
In the darkness, the iris turn black,
the snow quiet and sleeping, the stars
oiling their creaky, silver jackets
like tin men.