I sit on a shaded porch,
my back to a sunny yard.
I see my reflection in the window.
My reflection, I know,
but my Fathers face.
Ear lobes sagging, bald pate, his round head
looking back at me.
My Father who I would love, hate,
love, swear I would never see again,
ever, see again, then was his
best man at his weddings.
Disagreed with everything he believed.
Now hear myself echoing his words.
Button holing friends,”Got a minute?”
for a joke, one of his groaners,
which I laugh at now, hysterically.
My Father whose ashes I poured into
the Sound by the sea and who once in a while
pinches my toe when I swim
just to say “Hello”,
who now winks at me from his
reflection in the window
on a shaded porch, the image fading,
the sun setting behind me.