She perks up with a squeal
at the sound of the car door.
Her toddler legs hobble each step
while her body braces the banister mid-tumble.
When her bare feet finally hit bottom, she takes off,
her outstretched arms reaching up the cement pathway
ready to embrace her sky:

the one she looks up to
to yell ‘grandpa!’

How wonderful it must be to run free
in that pretty pink dress
trusting even the open wind
to carry her
while she looks for his eyes
that seek her approval.

I want to embrace the youth, the authenticity,
or maybe become nostalgic, but instead
I find my mind grasping more daydreams than memories
as this moment trembles like an earthquake within me,
awakening my difference

that my lack is not mere uniqueness,
my experience is not the common summary,
my sight has been tainted,
and that there’s an entire world of bouncy pigtails and little lemonade smiles
skipping down stairs and speed-running yards
to reach someone who holds the whole of them
and there is such a thing as a head start
in being human.

All I can do is stare
as somehow she belongs with others
outside of books and motion pictures
and inside the hugs of many.

We share the same Creator, the same land,
the same air,
yet her planet is foreign to me.

She came into my homeland
that I have toiled and sown for decades,
but I am the alien who can’t comprehend
what that must be like
to hold the future at her fingertips
and not have to hide from men.