Reflections
I don’t like looking into mirrors.
I fear that all I will see is a long face, an ear
that sticks out, and a mole on my neck.
But the mirror came with the old house,
I left it on its wall. Occasionally, I see
a fleeting image of myself.
In my current house,
the only mirror is in the bathroom.
Groggy from sleep, I see my mother.
Her long face, lines running
like parentheses along the sides
of her nose to her mouth.
I don’t know what I thought I might find,
perhaps an artifact of myself. I find
only the long lines like hers.
Her reflection smiles at me.
Pineberry lit journal
2024
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