An American Beauty  (hint:  use no mirrors)      

     When I feel beautiful, I feel beautiful from the inside out.  I am aware of my hair, thick and blonde, framing my face.  I am aware of the zygomatic arch curving under my eyes, and I look out, letting my soul fill my gaze, try to simply see myself as all soul, eyelash and hair, w/ wit to spare!  

    But should I look in the mirror,  I am almost always aghast at how different I look from how I feel (who has not, after all, glanced in a store window only to be confronted by some alien reflection, bloated cheeks and furrowed brow, hair flying everywhere,  wind making your eyes run – so NOT how you perceive yourself, walking down the street) – and the question remains, it haunts:  who am I, really?  The person I feel issuing from behind my eyes, or that older woman in the glass’ reflection, aging so much faster than my mind?

- Dec 7, Oakland, CA, 2013