Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Inside the Mirror

                              Mother Combing Child’s Hair by Mary Cassatt

Mother holds her by the neck
like a cat carrying its kitten,
since the little girl must be
shaking her head,
her hair, silk rippling, lustrous yellow.
Mother, a source so complex,
dreaming to linger forever, be it
in pastel colors. Her hand
guides the comb to wipe away
the tangles, both images
glazed by the unique grace
of a clear pond. Yet,
rosy cheeks and belonging
do not reflect; neither
what is so special,
so intimate, yet fleeting.
Such shame, inside that mirror,
the figures have perched backwards,
darker, looking away, slipping
from love to boredom,
and a viewer may think that
a mirror has to be
a devotee of shadows.


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