I step
hesitantly through
this strange house
the air
punctuated with shafts of light
changes from dim to clear then back again
The hardwood
floor stained
with generations of shadows
darkens away
from well worn paths
towards walls notched with doorways
In one, a
beveled mirror framed
in dark scrolled wood
My father, long
dead,
peers back at me
his arms held
out
as if to beckon
as if to embrace
on my neck, one
by one, each hair subsides
and slowly, oh so slowly
I lower my arms
and smile
and he smiles back at me.
