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.