My Mother's Face

Today’s glance in the mirror
Made me wish I could erase
The image that looked back at me,
Which was my mother’s face.

I do not mean her younger self,
So 1940’s vamp,
But more a senior version
Which bore aging’s glaring stamp.

It’s something we don’t want to see.
I think we often cling
To visions of ourselves so filled
With all that youth can bring.

But years unfold and take a toll
And grant us no protection
From what the mirror offers us –
A reason for reflection.

We can’t quite help who we become.
The years won’t cut us slack;
But when I pass a mirror hence,
I hope myself looks back.