for Anthony Wills
It is the eyes—slightly protruding, dark.
He stares at me. Holding the crumbling
photo I ask, Who is this?
Your grandfather, my mother replies.
Then who is the grandfather I call Grandfather?
The man in the picture follows this question
without taking his eyes off of me.
My father died when I was seven years
old, and Nana married again,
the grandfather you know,
my step-father. He adopted me.
My mother looks like a little girl hiding behind
this man in the picture she’d covered up
for so many years. I look exactly like him.
She is silent. He is silent.
I stare right back at him—
the man with my eyes.
My blood thickens.
Published, Over a Threshold of Roots, Sandra Larson, Pudding House Chapbook Series, 2007