And then we see old b&w dads who stare from photo corners, in rolled up shirts, sizes of sons. Memories hit as pellets in faces. They make us dreamy in faces, about dads the present size of our sons.
Dad froze at son’s present size in vintage b&w college photos. He is not even sepia like crows. It is the words that connect us as pebbles in our men’s faces and dad’s face from old space.
Words are not sepia like crows just pebbles dropped in faces. They hurt us deeply like pellets.