Stains trail her fingers
like ghosts from fifteen Christmases ago  
Mom's brand new china plates at her feet
taunting her from beneath

She rubs mirrors clean
of herself, hoping to wipe her
gently disdained breath fogging up the
cracked windshield of a toppled car

There's seven shades of shame
Ten tints of timid inferiority
Fourteen flashes of frantic
Hundred hues of hurt