My Father's Shirts

My father is forever fixed
in my mind as a man twice
my height, with his gin card
up his sleeve and can of
turtle wax in his hand.
I never thought of my dad
as a giant, but he always
felt large – even now,
when I can look him in
the eye when we hug
goodbye; even now,
when his hair is thinning
and his blood pressure
is high; even now,
when I close my eyes
I look up to him.

So it comes as a surprise
that I have been wearing
his shirts to work for the
last three days. The collars
are crisp in a way that mine
never are, and the pockets
are filled with crossword
puzzle answers, but I
manage to fill out the
chest all right and
the sleeves seem to be
just the right length.
The shirts fit fine,
but I still feel so small.

How is it possible
that I have grown
into his shirts
without growing
into a man?