The Mirror

By jeand

Sun, 09 Mar 2014
  • 2455 reads
10 comments
 

The Mirror

 

I look in the mirror

And what do I see

My mother's eyes

Smiling at me.

 

My father's chin and

Mouth which reveal

A determined mind

But not nerves of steel.

 

My sister's dimples

And same tone of skin.

I wish I'd inherited

Her vast compassion.

 

Though they are dead

My thoughts make them live

And falling to me is

A message to give.

 

I now have the task

To do what I can

To love those who they loved

The best that I can.

Certificate U
Poem
Poetry
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by Ray Schaufeld on

I like the sense of mission here, your awareness that you are part of an active chain of being, sent to work with those around you  in a good way        Elsie       

Submitted by jeand on

Thanks Elsie

It was written with a certain amount of guilt - as I find it very hard to love my step mother.

Jean

Jean Day

Submitted by Bee on

Hi Jean.

Hard to love who you wouldn't chose to like. I guess sometimes love is just about doing right by them. That last stanza makes the poem very meaningful. I really liked it.

Bee

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

I liked this very much, Jean. As Bee says sometimes hard to like, or love, but we can only persevere, and be kind and helpful when we can without showing dislike. Rhiannon

 

Submitted by jeand on

Thanks Bee and Rhiannonw

For your words of wisdom.

Jean

Jean Day

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

I agree with all that has been said, jean.  An inspiring write.

Tina

 

Submitted by Sooz006 on

I know I have a lot of my father in me I remember him, I hate that. I have no idea if I look like or have any traits of my mother because I never knew her. My brother died in december. He was a stranger to me in life and he died a stranger, but I had the chance to study him as he lay brain dead in hospital. I've felt closer to patients that I've nursed. I couldn't see him. I wished thart I'd tried harder to MAKE him know me and to try and get to know him. My niece always said that she wanted to lock us in an empty room for a whole night with two chairs, a bottle of vodka, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. I was always too polite, best behavior job, and he was indifferent. This poem deeply touched me. We are all individuals with pieces of the mozaic of us that belong to nobody else, but with other pieces, lots of them, that are shared. I get it. 

 

Submitted by jeand on

Thanks Sooz

I'm not sure why it is so important for us to look like our relatives - but I offended my daughter by saying that I could only see her husband's looks in their daughter. "But she has my eyes" she said, but I couldn't see it.

Did you never have any pictures of your Mother? I never realised that I looked like my mother until I got older - certainly as young women we wouldn't have been picked out as mother and daughter.

How sad about your brother too.

Jean

Jean Day

Submitted by VeraClark on

This is potent, Jean. Emphathised with it deeply. This relatively short piece has opened up little confessionals in each comment - think that's the sign of a successful, emotive piece of work. I'm the spitting image of my father and he's damaged lots of people, sometimes it's hard to like him for that. And his genetic hair.

 

Submitted by jeand on

Thanks Vera

I hesitated to post this poem - as with lots of my poetry - because I felt it was rubbish. But somehow other people valuing it makes me think it isn't so bad after all. Thanks for that.

Jean

Jean Day