It took a visit to the house for your absence to become a presence,
Routine outranked rationality as I crossed the familiar threshold,
As always, I entered from one direction and you from the other,
Because of course you would walk out of your door in your house.
Only it wasn’t you,
The act was the same: the body language, the sentiment,
He looked like you, too – just enough to trick a willing mind,
But clarity cut through and your absence was concrete.
And later, in the car, I thought about resemblance.
And I thought about death.
Of course he looked like you – in the same way I look like him.
And I wondered, is this how we live on? Resemblance resonating down?
Do we all contain past branches of our own family tree?
Will my own son step through my father’s door and, instead, see me?
And in that moment, will his mind conflate the two?
And did my father ever see his grandfather in you?
But, how many faces can one face carry?
Not enough to keep you forever.
It has to be itself as well,
It won’t echo forward if all it does is reference back.
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