In another life

I meet my father before he is my father
In the fourth aisle of Safeway, Puyallup,
In the aisle that holds processed foods and family sized portions
That make you quite fat and quite happy
There is no hummus or pita bread or beer laced with an imported
          homesickness
There is no checking wallets or mental health for what is affordable
          this week
There are only Pringles and Doritos and Kraft cheese and pasta
          salads and
He buys them all, these American foods, to feed a young body
To put weight on a frame that carries a heavy shadow, as if
To say “this is all new, this is all a different flavour,
but maybe one day, this can be home.”