in my mirror

~ Pleasant Street

I didn’t plan
to dwell on death
navigating days
weeks months
trying to appear poised
but you are there
in my mirror
and it
feels unfair
to mark me

my forehead
my one difference
a birthmark
that some find ugly
but I like it best
a mark of myself
atop your Sicilian eyes
your mouth

they played games
in school
tempting death
in mirrors
late night slumber parties
chanting and reciting
always
I
in a corner
reading a book

respecting death
as something far away
that could not
touch me yet
each day
searching my mirror
for answers-
for your smile
among the living

Published by Pleasant Street

Pleasant Street appears to be stuck in 1948, via a time-machine of her own design. Around these parts people call her Rose. She is a moody poet and a frustrated writer of stories. Movie lover. Cake eater. Bread baker. She is still trying to figure out a way to use baked goods as currency.

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