Something Simple

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.
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