All Ours, II

All Ours, II

It was my grandson they shot,

though mine is three, and white,

and doesn’t live in Sacramento

and as I write is probably playing

with his sister or his toy dog.

His radiance, his embrace.

How he learned to walk.

His first words. The funny way

he said Nan-NAH. He was

mine. How you anyone forget,

how could you forget,

he was also yours.

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