She scoured the world looking for beautiful things because
every time she looked at the mirror all she saw were cracks on the glass
surface when there were none. So, she went to the garden and sat
on the grass and stared at a magnolia in full bloom. Occasionally,
she would look up at the clouds and name them and find wondrous
at how the syllables felt inside her mouth. Cirrus. Cumulus.
She watched as they changed shape. Pointed at one and said,
“A boat without a sail with a dog’s face as the figurehead on its prow.”
The winds came and she would say, “Now, it’s a woman, asleep on her side.”
When her mother was cooking a stew, she watched as the droplets
of sweat formed at her brow and fell down the side of her face
and she thought it looked like a river she saw on a nature show
on television. Even at her most domestic, she found her mother so beautiful.
Everywhere, there was beauty except when she looked at herself.
She tried to find it inside her so she cut herself open and as the blood
came streaming out, stars came spilling out of her filling her bathroom
with a brilliance. She smiled. She was beautiful, after all.