Mirror, mirror on the wall Do I recognise your face at all?
The genes are there for all to see, but is my mother staring at me?
I do not know, she did not stay, to stare upon my face that day
She did not look as I do now, and see in me my furrowed brow
She had her reason, I have no doubt Why she could not stay, and hence got out
But if behind my eyes you see some pain, remember it is not me.
She had her own pain, that I know, her parenting told her I would grow
Inside her, but not outside too, that subject was defintiely taboo
My baby growing outside of me, will not repeat the history
I gaze and gaze upon her face, remembering a different place
I look at my baby 18 years past, her looks like mine will not last
Her image is like mine I know, I see her, into her Mother grow.
Am I my mother, like she is me? The eyes, the scowl, the pout agree
I live my life not knowing who, my daughter’s looks are granny’s too
Joy Rivett-Gill January 2014
This post was inspired by Opinionated Man’s post “Gift of a Stranger” on his blog “A Good Blog is Hard to Find” and can be found here http://shatteredsmoke.com/2013/12/15/gifts-of-a-stranger/#comments