When I saw
the photo of myself
I squirmed
for only a moment
then looked straight at it.
I saw a gray man
with a crooked smile,
my father’s face looking back at me,
sporting a half-mouth grin
I’d only ever seen in one photograph
from Korea, green before first combat
in his uniform,
his whole platoon around him,
his hair short, his eyes bright,
nine years before my birth.
In the picture he’s smirking
as if he knew even then
that his son would someday come
to a similar moment of recognition
and amused resignation,
a moment of humor
before a terrifying future,
that my face
would inevitably become his
in spite of all my years of being certain
that if I just kept my head down
and did everything he never did,
I could keep such a thing
from ever happening.
I wonder if he knew
that it would take this long.
Dark Matter 
September 12th, 2009 at 11:47 pm
Tony,
Is it “weird” and/or wrong that whenever I read others works I’m frequently reminded of favorite songs of mine?
That said, I really like this piece, essentially because I’ve been struggling with what it means to “be a man” and my own familial issues- in other words, your poem resonates deeply within myself.
September 13th, 2009 at 4:27 am
It’s a tough issue, and gets tougher as you age.
Thanks.
September 12th, 2009 at 7:40 am
beautiful.
i have no other words, i admire your ability to tell a “story”
September 13th, 2009 at 4:28 am
Thank you.