Over Me
I found an old picture yesterday.
It was of me and my dad,
taken from behind
as we sat on a rock, like the kings of the mountain.
I think I was eight then,
and even sitting, his head,
50 years older than mine, could look over mine,
could look past mine.
I have grown, since then-
sometimes it is my head looking over his
and we aren't kings of the mountain,
but I'm sure we can still find ourselves in that picture.
This poem is about:
Me