Random note . 1
Why are all my words dressed like immigrants?
I ask the twelve year old girl trapped in a photograph.
Plaid red pants. Two sizes too small for her.
Seagulls fleeing from a burnt sienna sky.
Grandpa’s hat drooped over her slanted eyes.
Where are you?
I ask the older woman missing from all the other photographs.
The question takes refuge and
I stand in my mother’s bathroom doorway.
She smiles in the mirror at me, brushing her teeth.
soft morning chirp
from the open window,
sway like a sundress and
faucet water rushes - spitting sound.
what is it? She asks.