Most said he looked like his daddy, some like his mama, a few like his grandpa, and some of the wizened ones recalled a picture no one could find but some remembered of a great grandpa, or a double-great, and said "If you could'a seen it you couldn't'a told the difference" and everyone nodded. But I couldn't see it. I never can— neither the eyes nor the nose. I can't see the worry lines or lost wonder. And I can't see secrets and regrets and assumptions. No confidence or uncertainty. Just eyes dark and colorless and searching, the scent of salty-sweet milk on new breath, and a cry for something simple. Something simple.