Reflections, Sophia Chen ‘24

Reflections

i. mother I set myself into the crisp clear glass of a winter morning, walking into a world that I created.

The earth is cold, carved by the frost and my footsteps. I am careful because I forget that this silence is not fragile and, indeed, would break far less easily than I.

Still, it was just the other day when I painted myself into this bleak landscape. I hung that sun into the sky. It’s brittle and it’s towering and it outshines me. I molded every corner to fit my shape. It is me. I am jealous of my own reflection.

And I know (or I think I know) that there’ll be a day when I can no longer grasp the horizon, no longer stop this planet from spinning—

It is the destiny of mothers to be outlived. I am proud, but envy clasps me in her emerald limbs.

But I ignore the future, out of either fear or desperation, and I— I care for this world like it is still mine.

ii. daughter I have a mother, I think—or at least, someone who made me. She loves me in all the wrong ways. (but at least she loves me)

I have her face. I think I am her. I forget when I agreed to swallow her heart. I choke down her dreams, bitter and callous as they may be. I love her. (Or at least I hope I do)

I don’t know how to be a jewel. I am a puppet-doll on strings, my limbs jerked around to reflect her movements. She framed me in gilded gold. (but trapped me all the same)

We both knew that this could never last. I may look fragile, but I never learned to break. Her blood burns in my veins. I ignore my own gritted teeth.

She smiles at me through the glass. (I always smile back)

Sophia Chen ‘24 Scholastic Gold Key