Beyond the mirror where
I stand the images
compound: I am smiling but
contorting her mouth
convincing her muscles to move
in all the wrong ways confounding body
formed and fed
in her image, foundling cut
from the same cloth is
close enough to claim.
Who moves first the mirror or the mime
whose mind signals muscle
who scratches at the glass to get out
or in who hides her skin
in shame to pass on the blame?
And face to face,
I want to start over,​ thinks the body
to the one on the other side
her second chance
unharmed unhummed
and now unhinged
the images compounded
the mirror double-sided
she’s bleaching her breasts
rubbing cream on her stomach
shadowing her eyes— says ​I want to start over​,
blank canvas white as the daughter
of an American father
the images contorting the faces
confuse one for the other the mirror
miming light
embodied bent.
The best way to get rid of
stretch marks?
Get rid of the daughter.