She used to live in a space, left of right & full of center, held together with outward facing mirrors, tied together by string.

She aimed the mirrors outwards, on purpose – she didn’t want to look at her reflection, reflection of self; she couldn’t. I can’t tell you why, she asked me not to say. “It’s too embarrassing”, she mumbled into her shoulder.

Once I asked her, “What’s your superpower?” She looked down and said, “I have a tendency to disappear.”

Not wanting to hide this time, she decided to build her self a container

with her bones,
with her blood,
with Her, earth.

Her teeth, gritty with dirt, clenched.
Her cheeks, gritty with soil dust, dry.
Dirty palms, dirty knees.
She put her ear to the ground this time,
instead,
and chose to listen, She said

I want you to befriend your self
your shadow, my mirror.
I see you but you need
to see yourself.