Puberty

My hair in the bathroom mirror 

looks longer, much

darker, sun-touched. 

Can it do that overnight? 

It sways when I cock my head

to observe my nose

--a little slope to ski on--

Some man some day will moan.

I’ve seen this face before

in magazines, on film.

The beacon eyes and blooming lips 

and cheeks as red as beets. 

But that face is mine--

unwashed, unpainted--

no subterfuge at all. 

And I’m a child, 
she’s woman!

How can this be?

I can't take my eyes off me.  

If it is me.