Verbosity

Coming home to a remodeled kitchen
doesn't feel like coming home.
Somehow, I've been left out --
And as my father cuts cantaloupe for dinner
(like I have watched him so many times)
I realize that I don't have his hands.

And there's something foreign about this.

He talks about things like pretrials and subpoenas.
And I have his eyes,
blue like the ocean, cold and deep.
His have become gray, wiser.

It's not my home now,
but there are worse things than not
having my father's hands.