Reflecting on Reflections

Have you ever been to the palace with a thousand mirrors?
Shards of a reflection look back, and
Eye contact is easy to hold.

There’s nothing quite like having someone from home to reflect who you are, much less a spitting image mother, if you have one.
She has the same voice I heard as a child.
“I feel like I’m just seeing windows of your life now. I’m happy to look in.”
My mother knows me so damn well.
We share a hotel room, but change in the bathroom.
Embaressed and private.
But you created this flesh and blood that I am.

There are a thousand and one mirrors in the palace we went to today.
Actually, this room was the bathroom of the princess.
one thousand mirrors we saw from behind an iron gate,
Pushing our eyeballs to the metal,
our phone cameras giving the illusion we are closer than we are.
But the last mirror is the most familiar.
I wonder if she sees herself in me the way I do when I look at her.
Familar flesh and blood.
What a lovely home for a soul I’ve always known.
How come this eye contact is so much more difficult to hold?
She sees me, and I see through her.
I am a birth, a child, a challenge, a warrior, a tree-climber, a spirit, a love, at times an enemy, and now…
Speaking Hindi to the cab driver,
demanding a bargain,
white T shirt and green pants,
a guide and a stranger,
a daughter and a friend.

Blatent in my eyes in the mirror,
I cannot help but notice
a bit I haven’t seen before.

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