The Mirror's Perspective

She walks past me -- young, stripping away her garments, examining the pregnant bulge.
Soon, smiling, a babe in arms.
A short while and another appears, the first one attached to her hip.
The father’s reflection ceases.
She walks past crying – often.
Children’s faces appear, climbing toward adulthood.
Her likeness worries.
Excitedly, she helps children don a procession of white chiffon.
She and I are alone.
She examines her changing face.
She disappears.
My physical location changes.
Reflections cease.
Wait! There!
A wrinkled hand reaches out to stroke my shimmery glass.
Faded, familiar eyes smile into me, full of shared memories.