I am not accustomed to seeing myself

Looking at that photo, appraising it with no reference except itself

Shyness arose and I averted my eyes

But curiosity sent my gaze back again

Who was that looking back at me

There under the flesh of my fathers

Hint of recognition

Something in the eye seemed familiar

Confused, I wondered how he could have come to wear that dressing

I have been here the whole time and had not noticed the change

If indeed that was him, where had he been

Why is he only now looking into my eyes

It startled me, a jolt of “Is that really you?”

Is it?

The eyes looked back at me unwavering

Then I saw him

There beneath the effects of all those years

I smiled a toothy grin of welcome and of coming home

He asked “Are you ready now?”

I said “Let’s go!”