Border Police

we were the lucky ones
minding our grandson,
whose parents were gone
for less than a week

we knew they’d return
but the toddler did not
and as the days passed
he grew more attached

on day four he could not bear
me out of his sight,
ganny ganny he’d call
if his sight line was broken;

he’d burst into tears,
dispelled with a hand 
and a practical
walk to pantry or trash;

a happy mess all cleaned up
a bedtime story,
repeatedly read,
thoughts of his parents soon returning 

not sundered forever by border police

Appeared in Mobius: The Journal of Social Change