Vanity by Anna Nichols Cooksey

Anna Nichols Cooksey

for their fifteenth anniversary,
my father built my mother
a vanity.

each sunday I watched her sit at the altar.

she approached plain and pious,
dressed in pj’s from the night before.
faint shadows under her eyes
and slippers swallowing her feet.

she prayed with mascara on her lashes.
she sang with lipstick on her teeth.
she loved with pale pink circles
that lit the dimples on her cheeks.

she smiled when she saw my reflection in the mirror
and invited me to join her in worship.

Anna Nichols Cooksey is a perpetually caffeinated junior pursuing a double major in English and Media Studies. She finds dogs and cats much easier to talk to than humans.

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