Reflections
I look in my mirror
And what do I see?
My mother's eyes
Smile back at me.
The same wrinkles
That cross her brow
Are reflected back
At me, somehow.
I look at my hands.
They appear to be hers,
Preparing the meals
And crimping the curls.
i open my mouth,
A voice comes out.
It's Mother's voice
Without a doubt.
When did it happen?
When did it occur?
When did I cease to be me
And start to be her?
Copyright © Dawn Street | Year Posted 2013
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