The Stranger in the Mirror
The Stranger in the Mirror by debgrant
My pandemic hair is longer than….well…ever. I have NEVER had hair this long.
The mirror is a window filled with a stranger.
My breakfast includes at least one hair.
I like hats. I decided to give myself permission to wear one inside.
I scrolled for just the right one.
Lightweight. No brim. Snug enough to control the mane.
The stranger in the mirror thought it was dull.
I asked the hat to hold a fountain pen and little papers to hold what my memory can’t.
I had a pin I have never worn. It is made of brass parts from an old watch that was made in Springfield, Massachusetts. So was I. Made in Springfield and of old parts.
The watch pin reminds me that life is short.
The stranger in the mirror mused it was getting better but missing something.
I went to my box of odd things that spark joy. I tried on my Voice of Democracy medal. I made a speech in grade school. I won a medal. Still sparks joy. Especially now, but it didn’t work on my hat. The stranger in the mirror agreed. I put it back in the box that contains some paper money and a few coins - an Indian head penny, an old buffalo nickel, a one-dollar silver certificate, and an Australian bill -leftover currency from a trip years ago. A woman’s face stared back at me.
The woman on the bill was not the Queen or a politician. She was a POET.
Her name was Mary Cameron Gilmore. She is dead now. Her work is out of print.
In her time, she stirred Australians to fight for their homeland in World War II.
She fought for the rights of the aboriginal people in her homeland.
Her homeland put her on a 10 dollar bill. I put the bill on my hat.
The stranger in the mirror approved. The stranger looked to me more interesting
and less worried about her hair.
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