I am standing at the ledger stone on my father’s grave.
I had never seen it before. I am 70 years old.
He died when I was 10 years old. Took 60,
60 years for me to go the 65 miles to here.
I had been scanning and cleaning up old fampix
When I was intrigued by one shot of dad;
One of him and mom taken the month I was born;
Dad looks amused at whoever is holding the camera.
I thought I’d feel something standing here, but, no.
Too far away, too long ago; I wasn’t imprinting well.
Only vague memories, maybe just phony shadows.
“’Bye, dad,” I said and quietly walked away