She didn't ask me

She didn't ask me.

She just reached past the display

and said, this one's more forgiving—

and I stood there in the beauty aisle

holding the word

like I'd been handed a verdict.

The cardboard sleeve had a small mirror

that caught the fluorescent light

at the worst angle.

I looked at myself

looking at myself.

Forgiving.

As if my face

had done something that required it.

Outside, the sky was doing that thing

before rain where everything goes

flat and still.

I bought it.

Walked to my car.

Didn't open the bag.