His Father's Eyes
Through half-closed blinds
shards of light pierce stuccoed walls
inciting them bear witness to the end
of this long night’s journey into dawn;
a crumpled fist defiantly curled in mine.
So soundly asleep – lay my cheek
next to his, so soon bruised by the world.
A tap drips in the sink – thrums a largo beat
and in the stove, yesterday’s coals grow cold.
He stirs; grabs at life with all ten fingers
and I pray to God no child of his will see
a faded army photo – hear someone say,
“That was your dad. You’ve got his eyes.
Did you know that, son?”