By Mark Ifanson
I focus on knowing I am Maria. Her thoughts, her memories, her feelings, her body, her history. All mine. But as I stare at my reflection in the store window, I see only a distorted image in the broad outline of me.
The longer I stare, the more distorted my face becomes. My eyes retreat into dark orifices, my nose migrates to my forehead, slightly rotated. Lips a grotesque grimace. When I pull back my hair, I can see my ears elongate, the lobes hanging to my chin. My face undulates slowly, in time with my breathing.
But, I am Maria.
I love the first line. It tells the whole story. Nice work!
So human and so sad. Moving!