I see her there in the looking glass,
A shadow reflected, a silhouette…a solitary figure -
She’s alone. Alone for reasons one cannot comprehend,
Lost there in the mists, the harbor of the heart.
She turns her head and I see a half-snake of a smile,
A stern grimace or is it the smirk of laughter bubbling up?
Counting rose petals came easily enough, now she counts
The lattice-like fissures marring the once smooth road.
Oh, it is a smile indeed…I hear the soft sound of her laugh,
I see her head nod, her shoulders shake just a bit, nearly imperceptible.
The cracks are well-worn but patched,
A foundation built of episodes, years, of pain - solid and sturdy.
She is strong now - or is she? - bulwarked by the trauma,
Fortified by the tears of broken relationships,
Strengthened by the love she has earned for herself…
A love grown in the darkness, nurtured in the mist,
Cherished on the waves and the long dusty path.
It is a smile she shows in her reflection…a broken smile, an enduring chuckle
That doesn’t quite reach her eyes or dance in her soul.
She’s alone. Alone by choice, alone for reasons none may know,
None may want to know, lest they join her in the laughter.
Dena L Moore
June 26, 2005