girl in the mirror

who are you

jaded hag?

why have you

kidnapped

the girl in the mirror?

the one with thick

dark hair

not pink/red scalped

harridan

the one with splatters of freckles

not splotches of suffused blood

and purple bile

the one whose smile

brightened sharp

dark eyes

not blood-shot slits

between puffed, bloated

eye-lashless lids and pouches

she was there last week

tilting her head

to admire the swing

of her long mass of auburn-shingled hair

outlining crepeless lids with

kohl brown and smoke

kissy lips to daub

on vibrant red

she turned

with confidence

and whimsy

and was gone

so now you

stand in as

replacement

old, worn,

vile, repugnant

your face hides no

evil for

it leaks through every pore

bitterness

floods through each swollen

and pulsating vein

what is the ransom

for the girl in the mirror?

what must I give

for you to bring her back?

how high a price do you

set on my youth?

how high a price do I?

written for Ms. Quickly 5 without looking in the mirror

I know who stares back, unblinking, at me.

girl in mirror on overlay

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7 thoughts on “girl in the mirror

    • Mirror-gazing, for me, is always a painful process. Aging hasn’t eased the blow. I appreciate your comment.
      “Is that how I see the world,” she asked the startled image blinking back at her, “or is that how it sees me?”

      Like

    • We pay a small ransom every day we negotiate with life.
      “Some pay a high price, indeed, for their sustained youth,” she mused. “Cosmetic surgeons and purveyors of youthful beauty would have less worth (and work) otherwise.”

      Like

the time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things . . .

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