Kathryn E. Harrison

 

I look at her eyes.

I can’t stop looking at her eyes.

There’s something about her, as if I have seen her before.

Her eyes have witnessed too much for a girl her age.

Her father is too strung out to pretend anymore.

She should be out playing with friends – not playing parent to her siblings.

She could change the world.

She could love the world.

She would.

She asks me if I am Ray’s sister and if I live in a tall house in New York City – I tell her that I am but I do not live in a tall house. She asks me if I am rich – I laugh and say no. She looks disappointed. Her eyes form tiny tears so she timidly stares at the ground for a minute, doodling designs in the dirt with her toes. Then she looks up at me and says “Well, I think you’re beautiful.”

She’s a mirror.