Inheritance of Stance

I stood in a shop window, caught in the glass,

my shoulders rolled back, jaw set with a weight.

There was something about the way I passed,

a flicker of him in my stance, my fate.

The years collapsed, and I felt his shadow loom,

a tight-lipped resolve rising, too real, too soon.

I saw him in each reflection, a mirror of time,

as I straightened my spine, mimicking his line.

What pieces of him am I destined to bear?

In echoes of silence, I find him still there.

The way that I walk, the choices I make,

it all feels familiar, a path I must take.