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.
