Confection
CONFECTION Laraine Kentridge Lasdon
Everything I am seems to belong to someone else
Everything I am seems to be someone else
Imagine a memory mirror
framed with pearlescent medallions
painted with miniature portraits of apples,
ginger toffee, and glutinous gummies.
Day and night the mirror reflects
blue-green fields or star-filled skies,
ferris wheels and carousels,
and a young girl
alone, insubstantial,
dressed in spun cotton candy,
sweet, hoping to be liked
in her fairy floss robe.
The glass shatters
my reflection, shifting light,
mirror image wounds,
blood flowing backwards.
I pull thin sharp shards
from the shattered glass
with my bare hands
rendering all semblance,
remembrance, unreliable.
I smile a satirical smile,
a baroque smile of a girl
of a girl who accepts stories
of familial gatherings, embraces
that were never for her.
Everything I am belongs to me
Everything I seem to be, I am
There is no mirror.
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