At the bottom of a deep well was a hunger,
but for what I never knew.
The first time I felt it was in front of my mother's bedroom vanity-
An enormous antique made of polished oak, with triple mirrors.
I stared at it,
three of me stared back,
but I only focused on one:
A child with hair tinged green from chlorine summers,
her mouth open mouth like the top of a well
she screamed at the very sight of her vessel.
She didn’t want to be in that thing.
Years later I sat there again, it’s dusty wood, my tired eyes.
But this time the well was gone,
and I was just a girl who was now a woman.
The mirror told a different story about three reflections
of who I’d been, who I was, and who I’d become.