a strand of black hair in the sink
as she puts
her face on.
not mine.
not hers.
i gulp and widen my eyes.
who is she? she says,
dangling the long
black
hair in front of me.
my mother's? my sister's?
maybe the cleaning
lady's?
i say.
right, she says,
applying her lipstick,
a bright red
swipe
across her smile.
we're done.
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