One day you wake up and you have a new face.
What’s this? you say
in the harsh kosher manner 
of your mother-in-law in a high-class restaurant.

Although your hair is Titian red
and not blue rinse like hers, she always sent whatever it was back –
No matter how many times you look in the mirror
you can’t make it go away.

So this is it,
All those women
you thanked God you didn’t look like
have surfaced from the caves in your cells
where they have been waiting for years
to gather you into their coven.

And now you remember her bitterness:
too much salt, burned edges;
it was never good enough.