My Face
Strangers talk to me. They always have. They smile. They give advice. They seek out mine. They ask my name. They tell me stories. Something about my face must welcome them. I have never seen this in my face. It is not for lack of looking. Even when I sneak a mirror double-take, it is always just my slightly puzzled face I see there.
Strangers talk to me. They always have. They smile. They give advice. They seek out mine. They ask my name. They tell me stories. Something about my face must welcome them. I have never seen this in my face. It is not for lack of looking. Even when I sneak a mirror double-take, it is always just my slightly puzzled face I see there.
©2011 Barbara Moore
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