The Daughter: Brink of Feral
Friday, February 23, 2007
I am my mother’s Alice In Wonderland. Her mirror image; not within her image. Her reversal, her carnival trick.
If she stood before me, you’d only see one.
There was only one physical difference betwixt us. The shade of our eyes.
Hers, the rich color of uncreamed coffee. So dark brown you’d swear it’s black, save for the ring around where color meets white. Where coffee would meet porcelain, a hue lighter than the rest.
Mine, a shade of sepia subject to change with emotions. Green for melancholy, violet for rage.
Her life a tragedy, mine somewhere else, utterly impossible to categorize…
Unless you name it Persico.
(A new story unfolds here.)
