Small Mercy

by Heather Whited

It is a small mercy
to hear you laugh
as we look 
at masks 
in the British Museum; 
to hear it 
when I point 
and say 
which twisted face
scares me most.
I rub 
the bandage 
in the crook
of my elbow, 
flex my fingers, 
do not 
meet my
own reflection, 
sapped of color, 
tired eyed.
Later,
dizzy, 
looking down 
through glass 
into the face 
of a mummy girl,
small,
preserved by chance 
who lives here now
at rest 
where we can visit. 
There is no laughter then;
a solemn pause 
does well 
before we move.

Heather Whited is originally from just outside Nashville, Tennessee, and after many changes of her major, somehow graduated from Western Kentucky University on time in 2006 with a degree in creative writing and theater. After a few years working and traveling, Heather returned to Nashville to obtain a Master's degree in education. She now lives in Portland, Oregon, where she teaches in the public schools and at Portland State University.