she told me i look beautiful when i cry.
flushed cheeks of velvet and puddled eyelids,
did i really look beautiful mother?
at my feet saw an orbit of tears pooled beyond a horizon,
the pale waters distorted, but i finally looked like you.
to watch my reflection in the foreign symmetry of your face,
left me bewildered.
did you, too, find a twisted solace in quiet cries?
mother, how don’t you see that beauty you found in my sunken eyes,
to see it for you?
the gutted feeling of seeing the strongest person you know refuse to surrender to her pain, when she too, taught you the beauty of release. a concept introduced to me by my father talks about viewing conflict with people as mirrors, as reflections.