Kim Nelson Writes

I peer into the looking glass

And know the image I see

The face comes forward from my past

It’s you, ~ Gram, Mom ~ and me!

~

At fifty-one, my precious gram

Held the spunky, 2-year me

At that same age my mother

Was grandmother to my three.

~

The stages passed in but a blink

Some energizing, some wearying

The roles assigned shifted, changed, redefined

The times thrilling and new, never dreary.

~

So today the woman glancing back

Has raised her sweet family

She’s ages old and quite content

She’s a Gram, she’s a mom, she’s me.

~

Wonder what my daughters will see

When  they glance toward the glass

In a decade or three.

Will it be me? We? She? All three?