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.