FACE IT

There it is before you:
you’ve grown into
the specter of your father
the age when you knew him

the wrinkles, the grey, the hat
pushed back off the forehead

alone, among your children
when the aches and pains begin
like the thoughts of stopping

when the images start to blur
like the newspaper in the morning
when the memories start to splinter
like what remains of your teeth
or to coalesce like the cloud
in the center of your eye.