Um, I wouldn't classify this as a poem as such, more a stream-of-consciousness thingy to test out Magnus' voice (from the prompt word 'mindful), but i'd be really curious for any feedback people have? ;)

Set between 'Next Tuesday' and 'Penance'

Broken Mirror

I try to be mindful. I would hope that I'm

The founder, the head, the heart

The kind of person who does not insult - knowingly or otherwise.

I would hope to be warm. A friend, a mentor

Not a shattered, cold, distant failure

Alienated from the world she swore to protect

Or am I protecting my gifts from the world?

That's how I think, sometimes, of them. Precious gifts

Each one rare, unique, free, hunted

By the same universe that created their genes.

Is it balance? Perhaps. A life for a life. But the fact remains

That you can replace a brainwashed agent of fear

Not so much a werewolf, or a sasquatch, a merperson, a symbiotic child.

I would try to be mindful of our differences

Sometimes, perhaps, it isn't the fear. They're jealous - just jealous

Of the gift they did not recieve.

My father gave me a gift once. Use it wisely, he said, Helen,

I know you will.

I was his daughter, after all. Still am.

The gift was a mirror, cyan with scarlet and poppy-field green surrounding

Sleek pale wood - the looking-glass, beyond the colours and plain

Was a perfect circle.

I looked into it every six o'clock of every birthday, because it seemed right

I counted the years and kidded myself I could see what I'd become

I thought I understood what he meant

I still don't know. Yes, he is always that cryptic.

I smashed it

Smashed it dead

It just slipped -

Father, I'm so sorry.

Do seven years of bad luck really count, out of

One hundred and fifty-seven?

They certainly do when the smashed pieces are still scattered over your black work-shoes and

you're staring, stricken, it's gone it's gone I killed it,

And you know those seven years will seem like infinity

Without the glass.

I really don't know if the superstition came true. It was so long ago now.

I was devastated inside, a whirlwind outside, but it faded

Out of sight, out of mind -

As they do.

I do know that after six years and eleven months, I gave birth to

My daughter.

Don't tell Will? He'll only worry. He doesn't sleep enough and I worry him too much already

But the loneliness gave way to the happiest day of my longevity.

I wouldn't've

Been able to feel

That good if I hadn't been lonely first, as I gazed down

On my rose-cheeked baby - asleep in my arms.

She was beautiful. Strange to think that she'd been an embyro hidden away

For so long, from her father, from my work, not living, just waiting.

Waiting for me? Or was I, for her?

I kissed her forehead. I cried.

I resolved to be mindful of her, always. I resolved never to think of her

Like that again.

Ashley? I'm afraid.

I could play mother to an entire network of fantastical creatures,

Was scared of being mommy to one little girl.