They are separated by 62 years,
Not bound by blood, but by invisible ties
fragile from being stretched by old pain,
strong from knowing the value of devotion.
I didn’t labor, big-bellied with my boy. I flew
to find him, across the ocean.
He was a tiny alien creature, and yet
He was mine, the moment
He took names we chose for him, fitting seamlessly
into this girl world, our blue house among the tall trees.
He fixes her drinks, helps her in and out of the car,
up and down steps.
She fixes food for him; advises; tells stories, and listens.
She lets her room be his sanctuary, her puppy his totem.
She is his, and he is hers.
I thank God for their mutual devotion.
She calls him her Knight in Shining Armor.
He calls her Granny, equally tender.
Nothing binds them together but love, but that is
more than enough.