Transformation
As I get older, I look more like my dad.
Not more like him than I do my mom,
but more like him than I did when I was young.
When I lift something heavy I make his face:
bottom lip out, tight expression.
When I drive I sometimes find
my left index finger across my mouth,
or both hands drumming on the steering wheel.
Our skin looks a lot alike, too,
and until I shaved my goatee,
even our general appearance,
at least from a little distance,
was very similar.
What makes all this even more interesting,
is that my dad and I share no DNA.
We’re not related at all, except in the way
human beings are generally connected.
I’m no biologist, but I’m pretty sure
the nature/nurture argument is about behavior,
not about me turning into my dad physically.
My dad is becoming someone new now,
as dementia begins its work. In that absence,
I don’t mind taking on some of his presence.
/ / /
25 April 2026
Charlottesville VA
Day 25 of National Poetry Month
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