Mirror
My mother calls me &
I’m at the bathroom counter this time,
toothpaste foaming around my
mouth. She blows onto her ramen, asks
if I’ve eaten yet. I look at myself in the mirror
every morning now, think about how
I only believed in God whenever I wanted
to not want
to kill myself. How
I only stopped
when I remembered the mother
of my mother,
her name
unknown to us both.
My face
the only thing
my mother can pretend
to remember
her by.
I look at myself
in the mirror every morning
& tell my grandmother
she was the most beautiful
23 year old I’ve seen.
On Facetime, I tell my mother
I will be eating soon. My plate
heavy
with everything I can possibly eat,
my stomach so full it will hurt,
I will never be afraid
of starving.
Monique Ouk is a Cambodian-American writer. Her poetry has been recognized by Stanford University, nominated for the Pushcart Prize, and appears or is forthcoming in The Seventh Wave and The Margins. She has received support from Jackson Hole Writers and 4Culture. Currently, Monique is working on a novel set in the Cambodian countryside.