I looked at you and saw my dad.
I winced and squinted and
ignored the pain in my throat.
I saw his eyes and couldn’t hold their gaze.
I saw his hairline and receded with it.
His posture was so similar.
The stance was just the same.
Did you see everything from that level?
As he spoke, he focused intently on an outwardly mark.
I saw him through your eyes and
thought:
Is that how I look?
He wore a Blackhawks shirt.
I heard your voice compliment
the colors and remark that
you gifted it.
The glasses. It could’ve been you
behind the lenses if
I didn’t know better.
I wondered how you could make
eye contact and
imagine life without him.
I see him and imagine you there.
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