This is Not a Dream
All around you, tidy yards hold one dog each.
Deer have been feeding on your tulips.
You lead your son to the only sidewalk,
busy with bikes and dog-walkers
and other mothers pushing strollers.
Above the drone of lawnmowers and power sprayers,
your son shouts out an inventory
of birds and basketball hoops.
He strains to watch the big boys play as you pass.
"I throw high in the sky." he says. "I run."
This is not a dream.
This is the life you have made for yourself.
This is where your son learned to say, "I love you."
He wants to run into your arms again and again.
It is not at all what you imagined,
except for the sidewalk
and the love
repeating itself.
