I am her reflection, she is my reflection.
I was a tiny girl, held between two fingers.
I rolled out sheet music for automatic pianos,
through the holes pricked grass, through my
fingers the ridges slid. The air pushed me down,
the ground came up, she, she, she, was a whis-
perer. Later, a larger girl, I swallowed the
paper, piece, by body, by piece and she lifted
me with her hands, her rough hands, and she sang
out loud. I realised in this instant that I had al-
ways been here with her. Right from the start
when I popped out of the oven, just like this.