Family Album

each time I open the tattered book
I find myself drawn in
by the angle of my father's chin
and his father's before him
and how my brother's small head
even then turned toward the window
in a way that made me know
he longed to go, to leave
that set of jaw, that olive skin
that name he shared with generations.
I'm sure I puzzled even then
about what every turn of face might mean
and just what would become of him
when age had closed the shutter
and the only place to look
was in