She holds the flowers in her lowered left hand
deep in the shadows below her heart
while holding the handmirror with her right,
practicing her smiles while looking into it
for everything that is surely behind her.
Suddenly startled by what she sees
and frightened of being caught
holding onto such fragile beauty,
she drops the flowers she is hiding in her left hand
and, when turning to meet her past,
she crushes the flowers with a foot so small
that she cannot run but only finish turning,
the small sound of the fallen mirror cracking under the other
foot so fragile, so small.
– John Tustin