Liz Dolan The Child Inside the Mirror A sprite in an iris pinafore skirts past me. Was it my second-born child years ago slipping by me at the kitchen sink as I dipped my rosy hands in soapy water? Steam rose through the early light streaming through the frosted window. I sensed she was myself brushing by my mother reading the tea leaves in the bottom of her rose-spotted cup. Or was it my daughter's first born her umbilical cord rosaried about her neck? She shivers in the ice cold frame, whispering I am. Here I am. Here.

Click for larger image. "Looking In, Finding Out Photo by C. Albert

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