poetry NIECE by Carla Cherry As she models her brand new brand-name dress in the mirror, I watch.
She gives her chocolate-brown kinky twists a toss so her hair can fly.
She spins to feel a wisp of cool air against her butterscotch skin.
She smiles and calls herself the cutest girl in the world.
Shielding my eyes from her sparkling aura, I shake my head and my index finger.
Stop that, I say, thinking modesty is noble.
But then again, as I look at my own life, I am glad at what my niece right now believes—
maybe she won't end up with her self-esteem all black and blue.
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