I’m at sea when I notice the sea
has poured itself out of my lips.
Was it years since I looked?
Years since I noticed
diaphanous cracks, the furtive
conversion of this, my very own
mouth into desert? I am
rocked underfoot, heaved
towards this mystery in a
dim, feathered mirror where I stood
posing in ropes
of antediluvian pearls.
In this mirror, my lips
purse in their loss despite decades
drenched in delectable lovelies—
our prized Coca Mocha Shine,
Cinnamon Dazzle, Spiced
Sugar Sheen.
In this mirror, I witness
the beginning of exodus,
sea roaring under me, sea
weeping out of me.
Fine lines they call them. My vessel
etching its hereafter.
--Kristen McHenry
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