Changes

Looking at old pictures, I am stricken
By how we've changed. Even those I 
Did not know, never encountered but
In photos, are amended as they age.
My mother was so dewy, so fresh as
A girl, as a young woman; that sad 
Speculation in her eyes, now in mine,
Reflected time passing. Her mother,
Staring out of a frame, shows me a
Likeness that pleases me, as much as
My mother's eyes in my mirror do. It
Is heredity, my own, depicted in my 
Face. Even if it is not the same face
I find in that photograph from 1990,
There is something I recognize there.
Something of my own. As we get older
I have said there is something generic
In our appearance. It is harder to hold 
The individuality of youth; harder to
Maintain the vibrance of middle-age.
I am stricken by how we've changed.