i sit in their shadow
despite trying to move into the sun
first with my young marriage
then with my tight wallet,
my need to clean,
to be educated,
to let them be what they will be.

i look across at him
hand on top of his.
we nod in inebriated agreement
(they’ll be OK, they are free)
even if we can’t see them
scamper like rabbits
in and out of bushes
living their childhood dreams
while we enjoy our
own brief moment of peace.

we stand to leave
calling their names
like an old song
we’ve sung a thousand times,
and here
without a playground,
a few measly dollars spent,
no other kids in sight,
they moan, beg to stay.

he and i,
we stand in my parents’ shadow
with our young marriage,
our tight wallet,
our need for them to be
who they are going to be
so that we may be
who we are going to be:
us.