Survivor
Sometimes when I look in the mirror
I see my father’s body reflected back
The same muscled arms
Skin browned from summer sun
Legs taut from constant activity
Restless soul walking the same earth
Playing out the same story
Generation after generation
Stone upon stone.
But not looking doesn’t have anything to do with memory
Nor does it change what I am —
Survivor
Or make me able to meet her eyes in the mirror.
Not today.
Maybe someday.