Paper Demons

It was her bedroom:
we all stayed over
and were young.

I remember seeing my face
contorted in the mirror,
freckled with shy lips.

My friends
busied themselves about me,
studying the imperfections of beautiful women
who were sung girls.

They pushed their hair
and lips every which way
at my sides,
busying themselves
with reassurance
while I -- undaunted,
but not inordinately beautiful -- stood silently
and thought them lovely.


Psalm Pollock

©2000

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