by Victoria Clarke

There’s a ghost in my mirror,
I see her every day.
She looks at me through my eyes.
She has my dark hair, and my jaw.
Though I suppose, they were hers first,
She gave them to me.

There’s an echo in my voice,
I hear her every day.
She speaks her words through my mouth.
She uses all the same phrases.
Though I suppose, they were hers first,
She gave them to me.

There’s a shadow in my gestures,
I feel her every day.
She moves with my arms and legs.
She has the same expressions.
Though I suppose, they were hers first.
She gave them to me.

There’s a ghost, an echo, a shadow in me.
I am the reflection of my mother,
I look in the mirror and it’s her I see.


Victoria Clarke | @vclarkey

Victoria Clarke is a writer from south London and is currently working on her first novel. Her other loves include travelling and cheese, ideally both at the same time.  

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