(escapril, day 28: reflection)

Oh to be eight years old and unafraid again!

A little gremlin with twigs in her hair and dirt on her cheeks,

Baking cakes from mud and castles in the sky,

Never once thinking to look in a mirror.

Nothing was about self, only about doing, about being.

To laugh loudly and let my teeth show.

To run without pain,

To dance without shame.

Feet made rough by rough of stone,

Slicing green veins open with sticky nail edge.

Sucking my thumb clean, no heed to germs.

It’s some kind of summer dream where boys are friends,

And they only hurt in games.

I broke what she was, and now I am something like a woman,

Staring in the mirror, wondering when my fingers got so clumsy.