FACE IN THE FLOOR

In this windowless hotel room,
where I hid from my mother,
there was a strange way
the light seemed to
glitter on the polished
marblesque floor.
Almost like a mirror.
There, I saw a face,
just like mine.

I watched this face in the floor,
since there were no windows
to view trees and hillsides from.
It seemed to watch me too,
with eyes that were narrow slits. Still.
I moved to get a better look,
at the face in the floor,
and then saw that it was
not really my face there,
but my mother's,
her narrow eye-slits distant.

No, it's just the light,
I told myself.
It's just the light.