By Tia Ramos
Zoe says she never trusts anyone without a vice—
someone who doesn’t find pleasure in the car crashes.
But I don’t watch the mirror like I watch the news.
Every side of my face in the oil smudges on the mirror above the sink
showing me the soap-bar cheeks that you see.
Do you find me beautiful like I look in this warm shadow & light?
My freckles so clean and my eyes open and normal
like the kinds little girls draw.
I try and trace the curve of my chin
but every tile to the sides of my mirror are a shade of you.
With every punch of blue I see the fox-angle of your jaw and
every movement of my eyes I smear the yellows
into your smile and I can feel the oven of your chest as I turn the faucet to wash my face,
in this water that always dehydrates me, that makes the bumps on my skin itch.
It’s dark out now but from my bed the cars are still beeping their horns.
So you’re the Springs. Curved around a pencil,
under my back,
singing all night.