I saw my father’s mouth in my mirror,

His chest and arms;

He’d have boxers

I had briefs;

He’d have hair like the Greek gods;

I’d have Mom’s                                                                        

He’d be 105 today,

I feel only a little younger;

I wish I had known him better,

I remember so little:

His postcards to me at camp,

His Friday night return from a travel work week,

His golf instructions and the pitching bucket,

The look in those blue eyes when he

Saw my mother,

The synapses shredding from the Alzheimer scissor.

The invisible pedestal he put me on;

I’m in my last chapter,

What will my kids remember?