Sonnet #50

In the morning, I look myself in the mirror,

Brush the night grime from my teeth and gums,

I lean in close enough to see my eyes clearer,

without my glasses on. As close as I come,

As blind as I am, I could smell his breath

if he had any. Feel grateful for each gray hair

I came to my graying honestly, no wealth

came to me, but my health is fine, my stare

into my own eyes reminds me I am not

dead, I am not pretty, I am an echo of the mighty

whose birthright was to stand, but I am not

mighty. I am father's face, my mother's eyes

Let me see this man I am, let me call him out

Each morning accept myself enough, a daily rout