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My Son Grant 

by Julia

 

In his pocket a lucky penny,

a piece of amber beach glass

and a ruby bead he found on the playground.

He sweeps his hair off his forehead

with the back of his hand.

His shoes are brown and worn

like his pants

both hand me downs

from his brother.

He doesn't mind, says

they are new to me.

On his palm

a little ink man

he calls hand buddy

eating exactly what

Grant has had for lunch; today

a cheeseburger.

He asks me for a pen

take my hand and on my palm

he draws three stars

then a thin line

to my wrist

(it is surprising how much this tickles)

looks up at me and says, see Mom

now you're powered by stars.