—for my father

When I was a little
boy, I wished we were
twins. & when

you would leave, I wanted
to follow. The wind outside
or the television or

my toys always convinced
me to stay. At times,
I am still

that little boy. The one that
told my friends about
you. Reverence.

& still, when I lie down at night,
the same wind that made
me stay home

years ago still convinces me to stay
here. I want to go, but what if
you aren’t there? I used

to worry that we drifted further
apart than a phone call could
mend. Or a hug. Now,

as I look at you inside my own
mirror, I see that we are twins.
Not identical in face

& breath, but the sameness of our
eyes & emotions make others
not even ask, anymore. You

aren’t my age, nor shaped
like me; you are
my father.

& now that we are closer
in strength, I no longer wish for
things other than togetherness.