Imagine

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.