Girlhood
I once was a mirror: no one saw me.
When I wept, my skin dampened
with other people’s tears. The body bent
at angles of replication, knew the steps
like ballet. The voice rose
and fell in a practiced cadence of comfort,
tumbled from the raven lodged inside my throat.
I moved like water, took the shape
of whomever contained me.
Some survivals go predawn blue
and stay there. Some beautiful girls
die in their disguise.
*
Emily Kedar is a poet and writer from Toronto, Canada. Her work has most recently appeared in The Malahat Review, The Maynard and The Bellevue Literary Review. She is currently pursuing an MFA from Pacific University.
