By Kalysta Fern, age 13
It’s impossible for me to imagine
as young as me:
with your careful confidence depending
on the steadiness of your hand as you
applied your makeup.
I was there too, though you didn’t notice me.
Me, and an infinite number of other mes,
all inside of you
by the enormous power of your body’s potential.
We sat there,
in the waiting room of God
and as is wont of those in waiting rooms,
I see you only as you are now,
all reflected on your face.
The weight of your age eclipses you sometimes,
and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
We’re both growing old, you just
answered the starting gun first.
Each year I grow more like you.
Already I feel the weight of a thousand possible
mes waiting within me, like a Russian Nesting Doll,
As I once waited within you.