CHILDHOOD’S END

    by Nadine Lockhart
 

It’s a balancing act: My sister & I
Climb onto the plush-pillowed vanity chair, 

A cast wrought-iron cradling a dusty mauve seat.
Our small bare feet sink deep into its softness, 

Which gives no real support like the cheap summer sneakers 
We had shed to ascend the white marble dressing table—

A cold, flat slab overgrown with makeup & hair supplies 
Banked in duplicating illusions against the five foot mirror: 

We press hard into the silvered glass, stand ankle-deep 
In beauty, navigate off-brand lipsticks, mix-n-match eyeshadows 

& lavender cans of AquaNet 
Superhold to flatten ourselves 

Along the smooth vertical surface. Nothing 
Will ever come of this, my dears, snapped 

The Red Queen, Except falls twice spilled. 
But I am certain Alice had stood & pushed, 

In her blue dress, all blonde & British, aproned & proper;
Otherwise—ditto, same as us—willing her way through 

The looking-glass. The Doppelganger, 
If in full effect, doubles upon doubles;

It’s in the DNA, the deuce helix of our biology 
Like a highway looping back on itself; my sister & I, 

Twins of desperation (to crossover) & why 
Is childhood so desperate? Reflecting: Alice is suspect 

& brunette; her author duplicitous & possibly pedophilic, 
A deacon mathematician, photographer of children. 

He has two names, two careers, 
Two famous stories—both ending 

In the cop-out “dream.” Kiss the Red Queen for telling 
The two-fold truth: Behind the mirror is an unpainted wall.