stairs two or three steps
at a time. His pants are baggy
hanging off him. He's lanky
and his nails aren't trim. His hair

is greasy and unkempt. Doesn't hold
conversation, but makes attempts. He
doesn't have a diploma. He once lied,
eyes rolled back in a coma. Doesn't

wash himself or hold a job. Some
see him as a slob. But I see him through
a mother's eyes, through his hugs/not his guise.
I see his smile light up the room. I loved him
as he grew in my womb. That love

crosses boundaries and time. That love
doesn't die. That love lies up at night walking
hospital floors, going to meetings, lawyers
and school boards. That love climbs summits

through rain and shine.  That love is savage
as a mountain lion. But gentle as a baby
lamb. Pushing for his health from pushing a
pram. Not every parent can grow a man that
climbs two or three steps at a time.

Dedicated to my handicapped son Alex