Girl Behind the Glass
You sit in the wooden rocking
chair
Trembling hands folded over
your bloated stomach
An old blue shawl wrapped
around your shoulders
Your swollen feet stretch
the purple wool slippers
You knit last winter
With twisted fingers and
size 10 needles
I watch as you stare through
cataracts
at the black and white framed
image
of a smiling child
in a sandbox
Your thin mouth slightly
pursed
the red of your lipstick
riding up
between the cracks above
your upper lip.
You squint through milky
eyes
rimmed by white lashes
Remembering
or imagining
Bits of sand in your fine
golden hair
Or the soft touch of your
fingers in warm mud
Dark streaks marking the
passage
of a soiled hand across
your freckled face
You move forward
A wrinkled finger shaking
As though to point to the
girl
behind the glass
As though you suddenly recognize
her
Need her
To breathe
To smell the tea
I have placed before you
In an old china teacup
Chipped, with painted daisies