My reflection reminds me of her when she was my age.
I look at my face,
And I see my mother in my own eyes.
I look at my arms,
And I remember her arms when she was holding and hugging me as
a little girl,
When she was singing me lullabies at bedtime.
Sometimes I sing my childhood lullabies to my baby,
And it feels like my mother is there with me,
Like an angel observing me from a discreet distance.
I remember my mother’s love flowing through the lullaby rhymes
when she was singing it to me as a young child.
And now I whisper it to my baby when I sing for him at
night.
I am truly my mother’s daughter.
~~~~~~~~~~
From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page
33.
