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Who Are You?
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By N/A
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Who Are You?


I looked into the mirror and she looked back at me,
I thought that I should know her from some distant memory.

Her face was so familiar, I'd seen her there before;
Now I couldn't place her...I didn't know her anymore.

She'd come and go so quickly, just a glimpse of her I'd see,
Funny, now I look at her how much she looks like ME.

Except that she is older and her hair has strands of grey,
I want to see her closer, I hope that she will stay.

So I smiled at her a little and she smiled back at me,
Our eyes met in the mirror and I thought, "could it be..?"

I leaned a little closer, she didn't pull away,
She held out her hand to me and now I knew she'd stay.

We both sat on the bedside and stared across the space,
She must have thought she knew me too, by the look upon her face.

Her hairstyle wasn't modern, her clothes were old and worn;
Her face held no makeup, her eyes looked so forlorn.

Those eyes were deeply shadowed, her brow was creased with care,
Her face looked pale and haggard, beneath her faded hair.

I then was sure I knew her and sure that she knew me,
Many years had come and gone, but I knew it had to be.

She could never come to visit, the mirror was her home;
It also was her prison, she wasn't free to roam.

Occasionally I'd see her, but I'd pass her by in haste;
I never stopped to visit, I had no time to waste.

She must've been so lonely, as the years passed us by,
I had no time to talk to her, she must've wondered why.

I remembered many years ago, the hours we'd spent alone;
I'd fix her hair and she'd fix mine and we'd sample Mom's cologne.

I spoke to her so softly and told her where I'd been,
I explained about the passing years, no time to just drop in.

The children kept me busy, my time was not my own;
There's so much work to do before the kids are grown.

But I knew she understood some how, for she looked as old as I,
She'd worked and toiled and worried too, as the years had passed us by.

Now the kids are older, away at school all day,
And bills keep on coming, so the worries can't go 'way.

But now the days seem longer and a little harder to fill,
So maybe we can visit, while things are quiet and still.

She still can't come to visit me, but I can always go there,
We'll primp and polish and smile alot as we fix each other's hair.

Bonnie David
Written early 1970's

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Submitted: Saturday, November 1, 2003

Last Updated: Friday, November 12, 2010

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