Parts of Him
You look so like him on our passing—
that strongly muscled arm,
his hair brushing your shoulder,
but you do not have his charm.
Your hands curl in a gesture
so familiar in its kind,
but they do not form the magic
his hands mold within my mind.
Your smile is so like his—
that chortle when you laugh—
but I see you cannot be him
as we pass upon the path.
Your stance is his, your bearing
when I see you from afar.
It’s just as we draw nearer
I see who you really are.
These long years since his passing,
I still look for him in places
where in the crowds I search him out
in unsuccessful faces.
Each similar demeanor
reaches out a tentacle
to draw me to a likeness
that, alas, is not identical.
The prompt today is identical.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
Beautiful!
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Written from the heart, a very poignant poem. I can believe it would be just this way. Especially meaningful for me now, having attended the funeral of a young husband and father on Sat. His widow will have many little flashes like this.
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I think she will, too. Seventeen years later, I still do occasionally.
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A lovely but bittersweet tribute.
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Thanks, Catherine.
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A very poignant poem, Judy.
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I like still being in touch, Lynn.
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How very true.
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Yes, Judy. Me too, after all these years. Thanks for this poem. It was those hands, and the way the light highlighted his hair to intimations of russet.
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xoxo
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The ironic part is that this is not a photo of him..yet it reminded me of him.
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So well stated – and true – how the mind plays tricks, or is it the heart?
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Both.
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What a beautiful post.
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Thanks, Isaiah 48
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