gold earrings

you are older than me,
perhaps older than my mother.
your face bears the marks of something—
crinkles in a worried forehead,
the inverse, downturned laugh lines.
some might read defiance in those
purple-rimmed eyes, but I see softness.
‘why are you here? what have we done?’
you might be about to say, or
‘please leave me alone’ or
‘please leave my children alone.’
do you have a child? is that wrong to ask?
for a small, absurd moment
i imagine you reaching out,
gently touching his helmet,
muttering a blessing.