She never knew him
when his shirt buttons popped
on a summer evening.

He never saw her
flailing arms become fluid
in the water.

They didn’t know each other
long enough
to have inside jokes
or lasting memories.  

She didn’t memorize
his voice or face,
but she's been told
she has his eyes.

He never saw her tantrums
turn to teenage angst
and she never knew him
when his hair was
dark and full.

They never finished
each other’s sentences
or played catch-up on the phone.

He never saw her graduate
from high school
or kindergarten.

She never learned his best-loved book.
He never taught her to whistle,
but she knows his favorite tune.

He’s the reason
she sees a challenge
in every stoplight.

All she has of his
are a charity baseball cap and
a love of John Wayne.

She's in awe of a memory.
Her faded hero.
The fable in her photograph.

He might not recognize her now.
She only ever knew him then.