The Mirror of the Witch

She sat in front of the mirror
and started to braid her hair.
Her reluctant fingers, fraught,
as they tangled in the already
tangled mess of her head.

She loathed her braided hair;
Twisted into one place, like herself.

She started to turn the braid
in a circle, making a bun.
She loathed the bun more;
Dull, laid-back; like herself.

She reached for the ripe red tint
sensibly concealed in her drawer
and painted her lips;

She venerated the fiery lipped
girl in the mirror
but erased the pigment quickly,
As quickly as she would don
her little red dress or
her fancy earrings.

She felt her lips and
traced the edges
where his kiss had been
last night.

He was disappointed
at her unresponsiveness;
but when she was alone
she kissed her pillow
like it was him, thought of him
to be there in the sheets
until she fell asleep.

Now the last bobby pin was
put into place;
She had one last look at the mirror
and smiled gently at her usual face.

Then vainly, she smiled a little more
recognizing the witch in her eyes.