I look at that girl in the mirror
So tall; yet she seems weak
She is uncertain, her eyes bright,
Whether with tears or not I don’t know
Her eyes, two deep,
Dark,
Unending pools of blackness.
They swallow me.
I’m curious.
Her eyes tell a story, of
African wood; so smooth and silky,
Falling rain as it tickles her cheeks.
Bare feet pounding the damp ground,
A sunset, hearty laughter,
Golden and warm.
Two lives.
The one she could have had,
The one she didn’t have.
Damp feet, running along California sands,
Bruised feet, planting rice in blazing sunshine.
I look at that girl in the mirror,
Again, but this time she seems familiar.
I look closer, and this time,
I see me.