The other day I found myself trying to write a poem about why I’m not a poet. Yes, I know…
Anyhow, here’s something else I did write.
Sometimes in a mirror, there’s a woman I don’t know
Neither less nor more, just surprising
Her hopeful eyes glitter – she’s been waiting
Our eyes meet. She smiles and I smile back. Sighing
I yearn to linger, hear her stories.
Then, catching myself, my face slackens. Someone might see
And the woman in the mirror is on her own again.