The Birth of Vanity

August 26, 2008
Shivering and sock-less at seven, I creep.
The tips of my toes and heels grazing the floor
The crisp tile shaking me all the way up.
I climb to the height of the crayon stool.
I watch myself.
Ruffled bark hair askew over sandy skin
Blue flannels, blue eyes, cream teeny teeth,
Contorting my features and laughing
To see what will happen in the glass.

I meet myself.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback