Catching up with the three of us
was less awkward than the slow dance
the two of us have done
for fifty years.
Maybe because the music was different.
Instead of the slow, heart-aching
waiting-for-you-to-say
'I love You' ballads
that always play
in the movie version of us,
the air is filled
with lyrics to children's songs.
You stare at a brand-new grandson
with a wide grin,
perhaps looking for
your trademark eyes
and wry smile.
I stare at you and imagine
you're looking back at me,
across time,
barely two months old,
tiny hands still learning to grip,
choosing to smile
at dance partners
by the amount of light in their eyes.
We drove a long way to make sure
this moment happened.
I waited even longer
to be sure I'd seen it before.