By Luanne Castle
At the bottom of the drawer lies
a gleaming woman around twenty
smiling with widely parted rosy
lips around straight white teeth.
Her chestnut hair in long waves
frames the lean bones of her face.
The face flushed, the eyes sapphire.
She’s in my pheasant-strewn jersey
three-piece comfort palazzo glam.
I wore it to see Bob Marley–our trip
to Kingston–and the white field
of the fabric glowed like moonlight
in the concert lamps and your eyes.
This girl I remember with her sheen
glossing everything around her.
She doesn’t know me though
I am only possible because of her.
Above the opened drawer is a mirror.
When I raise my head and spot
a jowly woman with a mean squint
I am not sure who that woman is.
I drift between the utility drawer
and the mirror, flawed and distorting.
Copyright 2020 Castle