Susan Daniels Poetry

this hair that fights gravity
& hairspray & leaps in response
to doors closing
is my mother’s hair.  like her,
i brush back bangs
even at night,
as if they won’t riot again
on my pillow
in minutes.  the war is
everything.

if i look closer, i see more
of my mother reflected
than that hair; in the eyes
that see more than the mouth tells

lips turned up
at the joke no one gets
because it is unspoken,
god’s wit whispered in ears

sometimes
giggling in church
or neighborhood meetings
or worse, not looking
and feeling the laugh,
quietly irreverent

i feel that joy pinging against the mirror
wanting out
& smile back at the her in my eyes

***At Dverse, we are drawing self portraits.  Here is a kind of free-write in front of my mirror.