Early morning walks when the light is coming on, the sky peach and the mountains blue. A morning like this your dad calls to say he has cancer: not the kind to really worry about but still, “cancer.” He’s trying to spare you and he’s never had cancer before or told his son and he’s scared. He describes the MRI and asks how you’re doing, he listens. You have to get going. He says goodnight but means goodbye. It’s just the afternoon still. You go back to your life and he, his. You sit by the waning light and think about him. And can’t help but see yourself.