The photo spurs the memory,
the impression, of who he was
or who I thought he was.
Such errant boyhood innocence,
overlarge front teeth to be grown into.
His ears were handles, prepubescent
road signs of development,
of wait and see,
watch and wonder.
In my mind he is thin like Youth
because he was young.
Bookend to his family,
sprite of fun flitting from
one memory-in-making to another,
a tattoo inside of me,
ink in my brain of joyful prank,
of fruit-stained rocks and grid-iron screams.