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| © Copyright Colin Smith |
I Am Not The Face in The Mirror
Those who knew my mother will tell you,
I am the spitting image of her, that her
demure smile is alive in me; if they didn’t
know better, they’d swear I was her.
My looks are not me to begin with—
like rain is not only wet; every atom of
rain is formed from the soil, its vegetation,
its temperature, the air, its perfume.
Like earth’s perfume that joyrides on
the wind, I lope hand in hand with it too.
I am Petrichor, I Am Petrichor;
I’m discriminate light kisses on your cheeks,
the warmth you feel in an embrace,
the chiaroscuro ballet of sunshine and
sunshade dancing to the tune of trees.
Rise to meet the sun, dear.
I am the spitting image of her, that her
demure smile is alive in me; if they didn’t
know better, they’d swear I was her.
My looks are not me to begin with—
like rain is not only wet; every atom of
rain is formed from the soil, its vegetation,
its temperature, the air, its perfume.
Like earth’s perfume that joyrides on
the wind, I lope hand in hand with it too.
I am Petrichor, I Am Petrichor;
I’m discriminate light kisses on your cheeks,
the warmth you feel in an embrace,
the chiaroscuro ballet of sunshine and
sunshade dancing to the tune of trees.
Rise to meet the sun, dear.
Rise to meet me outside.
Open the window and let me inside so
I can cover you in me; I want to be covered in you.
And my soul will welcome your soul, the mirror
and we will be one—clear and pristine will be
its reflection; never vile, never inadequate, never
needing. We carry each other’s taste in our hearts
regardless of stories in the mirrors.
Let’s coat each other in the human melting pot and
see how our me-ness perfumes the rain falling.
I can cover you in me; I want to be covered in you.
And my soul will welcome your soul, the mirror
and we will be one—clear and pristine will be
its reflection; never vile, never inadequate, never
needing. We carry each other’s taste in our hearts
regardless of stories in the mirrors.
Let’s coat each other in the human melting pot and
see how our me-ness perfumes the rain falling.
©️ Selma Martin
Selma Martin is a retired English teacher with 20 years of experience teaching ESL to children. She believes in people’s goodness and in finding balance in simple living. She lives in Japan with her husband of 35 years. In 2018, Selma participated in a networking course that culminated in a final lesson to publish a story on Amazon. She completed the course and self-published her short story, "Wanted: Husband/Handyman," in 2019. Later, collaborating with peers from that course, she published "Wanted: Husband/Handyman" in "Once Upon A Story: A Short Fiction Anthology." Selma has published stories on Medium for many years, in MasticadoresUSA, The Poetorium at Starlight, Short Fiction Break, Lit eZine, and Spillwords. In July 2023, she published her debut poetry collection, In the Shadow of Rainbows (Experiments in Fiction). You can find Selma as selmawrites on Instagram and Twitter, and on her website, selmamartin.com.
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