of my six-year-old
self and him

it is still in his office
in a ninety-nine cent frame

me and the guy I call Dad
now
step-father turned Dad
I still called him Franny that day

in tuxedoes
in a lobby bathroom
marble and gold

my hair still blonde
him still with his mustache

me standing straight, on
a doctor’s scale

I don’t know why
he is weighing me
I don’t remember
the moment itself

my parents wedding
ringbearer
families
buffet
ice-sculptures

but the only actual memory
sliding along the hardwood floor
of an unused upstairs
ballroom
in my rented suit

nothing else comes
except in stories
and pictures

so I study the photo

memorize expressions
body language

and I remember that instead

two years later
I would ask to change
my name to his name

I remember

but what changed
to make me ask
is lost

the picture shows
I loved him already