mom's eyes

are my eyes, my daughter's eyes
are mine.
mother's look straight ahead, caught forever
in a child's face that always stares at me when
i dust the mahogany "whatnot" that holds
photos and bric a brac. old
but not antique memories.
her shiny black hair in a bowl cut,
a three year old crosslegged in
a too big chair, her high buttoned shoes make me
think of my grandma and the time she must have had
every day, button hook in hand, patience at an end.
i look at my mom's eyes and wonder,
was i what she wanted from life?


(am i what my daughter hoped? )