When I was twelve,
I merged in the dark of the Tower Theater
with Shirley Maclaine.
Elfin rufous hair and celadon eyes, pale
perfect skin, thoroughbred legs,
were mine and hers.
We had the power to make men lust
and cherish.
Home in the bathroom mirror,
round and mousey me.
Strangers thought I was my brother's brother.
Twenty-five years later
looking in the mirror again,
Eyes the color of winter grass stared back,
Hair sliced with gold slides across the face,
Not Shirley's face.
But
The one I deserve.
~Gail Mahr