Has this ever happened to you?
One Day The Wife Woke Up and Didn’t See the Mirror
I paint self portraits because I am so often alone
because I am the person I know.
- Frida Kahlo
If I am never alone
how will I ever poem
If I am eternally buried
beneath bottles of soy milk,
and missing cats,
will my words surface
on the bare toe of my left foot,
sticky with strawberry fur?
If I never become the person I know,
never meet the woman in the mirror,
lose the address
miss the cab
to the back of a stranger’s blond head
will my poem be the last thing
seen on the shining silver bumper
as the checkered taxi
careens around a corner?
If I walk into the nearest salon
drape every mirror
with a piece
transform from gold to ginger
will I ever
will I ever have the right paints
to capture my beauty?