that every evening
after coming home
when i look at myself in the mirror
to find a poem.
to find my curls alive,
to look at them and see the story that today told:
the times the wind kissed the strands
and the hands i love touched my head.
the times i laughed and tossed my head back,
unraveling the waves, welcoming the mess, welcoming the joy.
to find my eyes alive,
tired, maybe, but alive,
that they, too, share the story today told:
the times i closed my eyes in gratitude,
the smiles i smiled with them,
the stars and fire i keep in them,
the shine i cannot erase.
to look at myself in the mirror,
my face a giveaway
that today i was alive.