alice
A small motion, reflected, catches
my eye and I stop to look,
as always.
Sometimes I feel
like a stranger
but I think a stranger could
never be so cold
and strange to my eyes.
“You look at me too much,” I tell
the looking-glass girl
but she only blinks dumbly
and pushes the hair from her eyes.
I stand there looking, awkward
and dissatisfied;
she chews her lip
and pretends not to notice.
I know she feels the eyes on her,
but I guess her skin
is thicker than mine
(she doesn't
flinch)
or maybe she just
sees less.