Woman in the Glass

Woman in the Glass
by Vivian Gilbert Zabel

Who is that woman in the glass with care-worn face
And a relentless sorrow deep within her gaze?
Her hair, once dark now faded, hides threads of white.
Lines of laughter and of pain feather across planes no longer young.
Who is that woman in the glass
Whose lips tip upward in a smile as if hearing some hidden jest,
Yet at times move in silent prayer or droop in discouragement?
How familiar she appears,
This aged woman whose tiredness shimmers through the reflected image.
Apparently she hears not the youth, the life, the joy singing from my heart.
Who is that woman in the glass?
Could this my mother be, her great-grandson at her breast?
Ah, no, I can’t believe what I see.
That haggard old woman is actually me.