Every Day I Look in the Mirror and Say Today Will Be Beautiful

but today the sky was glowing yellow like flat Mountain Dew
because of wildfires over 400 miles away. Glints of atomic orange

on cars, splashing the sidewalk, but when I looked up, all I saw was
hazy neon-yellow gray. How stunning the sunset, a burning coral orb

draped with gauze. Hickory smell that won’t wash off like when
my childhood home caught fire and we had to stay at a hotel

during renovations. One night, a man looked in the window of our suite
and made a gun with his hands, released the trigger. Smoke billowed

from the barrel like an omen. For the insurance claim,
my father told me to make a list of what was damaged.

The first thing I wrote was my Locket Surprise Barbie, whose face
I’d graffitied with permanent marker, whose hair I’d butchered.

Now she’d have a second chance at beauty. When we went home,
everything was new. Brightly painted walls, glossy hardwood floors.

The earth wants what we all want. To wipe everything clean
and start over. To look in the mirror and feel beautiful.

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Sarah Mills is a freelance writer and editor. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Anti-Heroin Chic, Third Wednesday, Rogue Agent, Glass Mountain, Philadelphia Stories, and elsewhere. She is currently writing a young adult novel. You can visit her at sarahmillswrites.com.