Things Thought in Front of the Bathroom Mirror

Sometimes I think
I could reach my
young, scratched,
scarred hand
through the mirror,
out to where I
could touch the star-
sprinkled sky
beyond. And I
think I could
feel those tiny suns
with just the tip of
my fingernail, my
fingernail painted
sloppily, artistically
with gold flecks.
Sometimes I think I
could do more, far
more than that.
I could break the
mirror’s glass and
step right through.
I could leave behind
my saddened
expressions and
wishful looks and
uninspired glances
and fly to the
lighted orbs.
And there, I think,
I could find myself,
dressed in happiness
like a bronze prom dress
and reflecting contented peace
on my reddened cheeks and
in my brown eyes. I
of my imagination.
I could transform my lonely
dreams into a new reality
of dancing
through snowdrifts and
down countertops at the
local diner, ignoring
cold feet
and cold stares. Bringing
an inspiration to hearts.
Or a lightness
to creased foreheads, tired minds.
Hand is lifted.
Mascara is applied.
The girl picks up her purse.
And walks
out the bathroom
door- leaving only
a reflection
of what might have been.

Through the 3rd Eye was supported in its inception by the Grand Rapids Humanities Council and is currently made possible by continued volunteer effort and private support. Copyright 2013.