Keepsake

There are no photographs,
no keepsakes, or artifacts of his,
I rewind the scratchy reel
of memory, a silent movie.
where men wear braces and rolled up shirt sleeves ,
and women tie aprons over skirts,
a stranger who may
-or may not- be him,
a young man laughing, before the burden of a family
not planned - perhaps - not wanted,
then, a memory of a memory,
It may even be made up.
A father, a child, he is...
throwing the little girl up into the air
for the joy of her laughter
when he catches her.