My son, who’s never been allowed
to tread on the scarce, yellowed lawns
back in Spain, hesitantly takes
a few steps in Priory Park,
glances back, checks for approval,
then breaks into a wild canter.
And I, who played in our garden
all summer long and who took it
for granted, learn the amazement
of running over springy grass,
the fear-free tumbles, the green stains.
I wince at them like his Gran did.
