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To My Mother in the Mirror
As I turned down my sweater, my full hair caught in the neck, I looked up in the mirror and saw your face in mine, young but severer as it became through patience or despair. I never saw how we were meant to bear life as a burden merely or to fear her. I hated your drawn face; mine would be clearer, and where you had retreated I would dare. My clothes are looser now, my hair is longer than you would like, but when I see your face in my reflection, who shall say I'm stronger whether I choose rejection or embrace? A paradox: the more I try to shun the more I recognize your bitter son.