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Mirror, mirror on the wall, late last night I received a disturbing phone call. His voice was clear, but what he said, I didn’t want to hear. This morning I awoke to stare passively at the image in the mirror, I find untraceable. It’s my own reflection. There’s a little girl in my place, about eight years old, so young, lit-up, she says she’s fed up with this place. Who is she, in front of the mirror standing stronger now, determined, still free, why does she stand in the place of me? How can I erase the memories? Brush my hair, swallow the fear…for tonight, it’s just you and me, my dear…yes, just you and me, my dear. [Kristen Delaney] |
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