Who I see in you

I can see our dad in you
When I look at you
I can see our mom

I look at you and see my past
Twenty years and five or ten I didn't know

When I look to you I sometimes see myself
like in a mirror that hasn't come to me just yet
Seeing your face I can't forget

there's Uncle Jim
and Grandpa Bill
and Grandma too
The other Grandpa's in you hair and on you lip

Our other Grandma speaks to me through your face and build

I'm sure there's plenty of Dows and Johns and James there too-
it's just that I've never seen them so I wouldn't know

So why can't Jeremiah and Isaiah and Moses and Aaron and Methuselah come through in the way we speak
and what we do?
In our gape or little ticks and mannerisms?

Shouldn't this be true? That Joseph and Enoch and Noah, Cain and Uncle Abel be in every wink and not and chew?

There's Rebecka's hair and Rehab's grin

Hey look at them
hey listen to him
that laugh of hers
that limp of his

I see you
every Dago, Harp, Chink, Spick, Nigger, and Jew

That stare of hers
that stride of his

We're all our own closest relatives