Jessica Comola: Mirrorface

Where you take down your hair my sister comes combing
her mouth a set of thin scissors
shined red. A body

too thin for garters and the double-thumbnail
of underwires slips
and thigh high hose. What do I do.

With the phone ringing while you’re in the bath with a man holding

the line. There are no milkteeth left and I,
my sister,
      meet only in a mirror
      where she combs braids paints a mouth red.

These are the words I know
      and what have they left? The hot velvet

of hair curlers. What you
      are becoming. I cannot help

watching you in the mirror and that way it bends down to kiss me.

      It looks nearly
familiar

      like something pretty
we laughed at once.



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