One more time,
let me lift this frosted glass,

pinch the base of the oval with the hand I forced
myself to learn to write with, and stroke the mirror’s
rim with the back of the palm of the hand that had always
been meant to be dominant.

Caressing softly this frame that I seek myself inside,
I focus on the space separating the edge from the features
facing back at me from this spiderwebbed
center, and I wonder,

Small town, dreaming about getting
out, to the small city,
coulda used it as a stepping stone,
but who could ever leave the great escape?

Tilt your chin up to smile down the sky at me.
I want your excited confidence to lift me up
when I know my love is what it’s in.