Why he is not my little boy
Too tall.
Born too late, too old.
His eyes—lakes of day
not brown like mine.
He sings too high too loud
in a language I don’t
speak. He likes basketball
when I throw for him
watering the garden
when I hold the hose—
Dad says Smile!
but he doesn’t look.
I wish he were my boy. I want
to believe that in his song
he wishes he were too.
About the Author
Wandajune Bishop-Towle is a poet and a licensed psychologist in Massachusetts. She is the proud stepmother of a young man with autism, who is a frequent subject of her poems. Her work has appeared in Quiddity, poemmemoirstory, and The Comstock Review, among others.
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