1.
I'm afraid of not being able to see my mother in me –
and that, at that point, she'll truly be gone.
2.
I'm watching for hint of my flaws somewhere;
it'd say it's all over my face, I don't have to talk.
3.
I'm looking at the scar through my eyebrow, a reminder
that I carry my past in my left eye, my future in my right.
4.
I'm counting every eyelash, every lip-line, in case
one day I wake up and there are too little, or too many.
5.
I'm creating angles out of shadows – trying out
my new language of nuance – British light on American skin.
6.
I'm preserving as many days that I look beautiful
as I can, because there are still too many that I don't.
7.
I'm worried that when I die, I'll be represented poorly.
I'm planning ahead.
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