Small Stone: My Face

Looking in the mirror, I really see my face. I notice my mouth, how the top lip rises into two perfect points, a shape that seems almost wasted on someone whose only “makeup” is Strawberry Chapstick.

I’m usually don’t notice the shape of my mouth, had forgotten it, because I’m distracted by my soft neck, an unfortunate family trait, or surprised by the deepening lines around my mouth, my eyes and my forehead, or the dark circles under my eyes, or my unruly brows.

I forget my dimple and the color of my eyes–each one uniquely shaded, an unmatched pair, hazel but the mix of blue, brown, and gold shifts, like the changing colors on the surface of the river.