Heritage

In the shadow of the room, I watched
under a dim night light
my father writing words I never read
I left un-noticed, words un-said

he used the front door when he left
for an audience of students
I chose a different world
and left by the back

I look at all his life, now spent
stored in old photos
left in a drawer
just next to his bed

and find little there
in common
few words were ever said

but as I sit
pen in hand
in a dim lit room
putting words on paper
I look down

and finally find the link
for I see my father’s hand

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