Mind is Glass
by
Shalla DeGuzman
Look into a curved mirror inside a reflecting
telescope, will you? And what do
you see? Light. Colors corrugate, coalesce into… oh, hold on, dismembered
memories making come backs.
Do over.
See a tape measure. Hear fashion stylists dress celebs at New
York Fashion Week, form fit body type E's (Anna Nicole Smith
and Monique), tailor accessories,
exfoliate
blackheads and dead skin, the usual. Did you know, within this scientific
spectrum of style—especially if you're a trend aficionado—you
may feel a desire to watch a support group, something like
The Janice Dickinson Modeling
Agency?
Many will. Then, run not sashay to the stores (me to my Walmart, swapmeets,
the like) where measurements get minimized or maximized. Find happiness
then even
if it is fleeting.
So, midway through your shopping, light reaches infrared levels—five thousand
micrometers, maybe more. Capris are matched with flat sandals; necklaces cascade,
layer, scaled; cosmetics regimen start with "have you SPF 30?"
After a while, the tape measure ceases to exist. Customary
rejections follow, but ease over time, until whatever you're
wearing and however
you look
turn okay again. Pain? You may feel it, especially if your childhood
sucked or
the first
person you ever had a crush on lied and ditched you for someone with
braces (Steven Fine, 7th grade).
And even if Heidi Klum begs to don your line, you still must
forget what came before. Heal. The mind is glass, a curved
mirror and also
a crocheted
lace edging.
What doesn't get reflected injures or knit together into yards of
twisted yarn.
"It's a good piece."
--Gunnar,
editor of 5_Trope