are too young to use makeup
or talk about cute boys.

Instead, they beckon her
with a bathroom mirror.

Bloody Mary, they whisper
three times, a mantra complete

with strained, fearful giggles
and a dim flashlight.

For a moment, they all swear
she appears in the smudged glass:

A girl with bleached skin, stringy hair
and cracked lips that struggle

to open, to whisper her story,
to explain why she is here, haunting

those who should be asleep.
Then, she disappears.

And all they see are their freckles,
their dimples, their wide eyes.

For years afterwards, they
will see her: long eyelashes

in a car’s sideview mirror,
pale cheeks in a parking lot puddle,

twisted smiles in their compacts,
the ones they all slam shut

at the first sign they are becoming
what they don’t really want to be.

Karen J. Weyant

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Karen J. Weyant’s speculative poetry has appeared in Caesura, Devilfish Review, Spillway, Strange Horizons and Whiskey Island. She teaches at Jamestown Community College in Jamestown, New York. When she is not teaching or writing, she explores the speculative worlds of Rust Belt Pennsylvania and western New York.

Artwork: Stephen Mackey, Girl With Masks
Website: http://www.stephenmackey.com/

31 Jul This entry was published on July 31, 2018 at 12:10 am and is filed under 31 (July 2018), Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.