by Daisy Zamora, Nicaraguan poet
Hand Mirror
After so many years
my grandmother Ilse returns
with her astonished
dark and melancholy eyes
and glances
- slender Narcissus -
at her small silver pool,
her magic oval,
her moon of cut glass
occupying this face
more and more hers
and less mine.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
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