Pantomime
by D. K. Sterling

Glossed face looking glass
round and framed
in shades of emerald;
rimmed by blue silk roses
and spice scented candles

awaits me each morning 
as I drag a brush though
thick twists of auburn,
thinking so many things;
all seem urgent.

A sweep of mascara,
a puff of powder;
I pause in the silent routine
tracing fingertips across
my dips and curves...

of flesh and cheekbones,
with hints of childhood,
and ever changing moods 
that betray me daily 

while the looking glass
remains unsympathetic
(cold and stoic)
to any need of illusion.