Bathroom Continuum

My father's face surprised me one morning, 
peering at me from my bathroom mirror. 
My joy at seeing him (dead these many years) 
was tempered by a sudden knowledge of the message
he brought.

I never sought wisdom from my Dad, 
but in my blundering adolescent way 
found much that would return in later years 
to haunt, and to guide me.

He, a quiet yet vibrant man, taught me 
that sorrow and tears were never solely
the private prerogative of women: 
men also wept in private anguish.

He, an undemonstrative man, showed his love 
at the most unexpected times. 
A sudden gift, and shy explanation 
of how he thought I might like it.

He, an unlettered man, offered support,
approval for my serendipitous ways. 
With hesitant words he voiced his pride 
in the directions I had taken.

Seeing myself in my children's eyes, 
I can only hope that the genetic gifts 
I leave with them can partially repay 
the legacy of my father's love.