W.

Painted father
with novice hand
with disproportion
warm eyes
and a face
we can’t understand.
We never saw him
on Saturday mornings
nor were scolded 
or unconditionally loved
all imperfect.
Father, son
shared the office
years apart,
spoke policy
of tragedy
of terror
of bombs,
the family drawl.
Then picked up the brush
and painted
yourself
your dog
a minister
a czar
and dad
with a tear in your eye
and a new power.

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