The mirror makes me
into my mother, our rounded
shoulders hunched
before the sink, tweezers held
like a match to a birthday candle
over our eyebrows.

The mirror exchanges her
wrinkled eyes for mine, stretches
her disgusted lips thin. She presses
red lipstick on, perfect
in a line I know not to cross.

My face is empty,
blank. She did not leave
me beautiful.