Saint Veronica

A night that's been both forever and a moment

The night tastes of vanilla and oversteeped earl grey -

If you will even call it night.

It is the early morning hours where dawn is miles away and time lurches still,

A heavy fog hanging in the empty spaces.

Damp tiles under blistered feet,

The strappy high-heels dangling from my pinky finger.

I know that it’s me in the bathroom mirror and yet I do not recognize that girl.

I have never seen the spider legs framing her bloodshot eyes.

I am unacquainted with her feathered magenta lipstick and its smudges against her skin.

I am a stranger to her goosebumped thighs and the black tights running in stutters atop them.

I look at myself and it feels like it’s been years,

And yet in this ambiguous moment,

The reflection is crystalline clear.

The mirror: my Saint Veronica.

I am anything but Christ-like right now, leaning against the porcelain sink.

It is like swallowing hot coffee and feeling its warmth drip down to your stomach.

The sweat and grime is wiped clean from my soul.

Beneath smeared eyeliner, I am steely-eyed.

Author's Note

I'd love to hear what you think!

Reviews

[kentuck14]

D.
There is something compelling about this piece. The impression is that all is not quite like the speaker would like it to be . . . especially about herself. Good imagery . . . puts you in scene . . . looking in the mirror and not really recognizing who's in there (3rd stanza) . . . or maybe it's denial? A moment of revelation? (5th stanza). What is the reference to St. Veronica? Congratulations.
Tom