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.
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1 comment:
I love that you have made your blog about poetry! I will have to tell my friend who is getting her MFA in Creative Writing (specializing in poetry). I'm sure she will add it to her feed reader!
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