Remnants

I stare at the photograph
of a bare-chested 18-year-old
trying to look brutish,
crouching as if
ready to pounce,
projecting his masculinity
lest the image fade.

Our cells are no longer the same,
but he still lives inside me,
staring out from
his secret chamber,
where in one corner
is a small table
where he prays
and gazes upward
at Jesus in agony—
a votive candle flickers.

What would we say
to each other now,
sixty years later?
Would he scoff at
the weak, wrinkled creature
staring back at him
or ask me to
join him in prayer?
And if I refused,
would he try to
wrestle me into belief?

Would he see only
the frayed edge
of the fabric,
never to feel
the rich texture
in between?

First published in Hawaii Pacific Review https://hawaiipacificreview.org/2023/10/02/remnants/