On My Vanity Table Poem by Stella Adaeze Ogwatta

You know, this is the altar where all the questions rise...
as I make those adjustments:
a little dab, a little fitting,
a long, quiet sigh.

Enquire if there's more to all of this.

Staring back at me is the who-man on the other side,
the one who always seems to know my next move,
mirroring me with a precision that flatters.

She had curious eyes at twelve,
a loyal friend who still shares my quiet chantings
on this altar where I lay down and pick up my vanities.

I soothe my chest; it's itchy.
Uhmm—
that must be my soul,
stirring in its usual spur.