There’s an old picture he sent me 

I imagine from maybe the mid-70s 

It’s sepia-toned 

And the young handsome guy in it isn’t holding a cell phone

Nah, he’s holding a net

Shirtless, hard to forget 

His thick brown hair and charming smile I’m sure left the girls overly courteous 

And in the distance behind him is a lovely beach

Where a big German shepherd runs the shoreline, off-leash

And oh, the young man’s dazzling teeth

My father’s text beneath the photo reads: “Just got back from the beach”

Every few weeks he sends me this

Maybe to allay my fears and help me believe nothing’s amiss

Because when I see him in person, he’s wearing thin

His once sculpted shoulders are bones 

And rather than a net in his hand it’s a cane 

And through those once strong hands I see knobby veins

There’s traces of that old smile sometimes 

And in that charming face there’s now a few more lines

What happens with time?

I like to remember people alive

When they’re here, when they’re gone 

My father told me as an early 20-something: “That which I was, you are; that which I am, you soon will be”

Nearly 20 years later, I’m starting to see what that means

Because compared to my old pictures, my hair no longer glitters 

There’s a hint of fatigue in my eyes 

Compared to high school, maybe some sag in my thighs

I hang on to a few photos

To show my daughter down the road

I want her to know (maybe this is all just hubris) that I was once cool

I ran, went to the beach, went to the pool

Had all the same ambitions she’ll have

Married, went all the way with her dad 

So that when I’m fading like a sunset 

She won’t forget or be sad

But remember, like I remember my dad, that I was once very alive and cool