Reflection in the mirror

When I look in the mirror, I see…
 a harried mom who hasn't showered.

Sometimes a wife whose got the little black dress on and make-up and high heels.

Sometimes, a professional with a suit coat and staid jewelry.

Sometimes a victim who is putting on her tough-as-nails face.

Sometimes a zombie with the blank facade.

Sometimes a broken soldier on bended knee next to a battered comrade.

Sometimes the one sweating blood in Gethsemane because she can hear the drumbeat of the soldiers coming to drag her away.

Sometimes the martyr to injustice.

Sometimes the warrior fighting the same.

Sometimes the daughter curled in the lap.

Sometimes the sister rejoicing with brothers.

Sometimes the woman that came before it all, curled up in the snow, in the woods, next to the gravestone of her baby, cuddled up to a cat, because only animals can feel this depth of anguish I sometimes carry.