There she is again,

As always when I least expect her.

In the storefront window

As I look at my reflection.

In the mirror when I check my hair

And sometimes when she looks back

I see that she’s getting gray.

She looks at me through a misty windowpane

And holds my gaze.

When did I become her?

When did the child become mine? Where did I go when I became my mother?

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