Mine for a Moment

There you were, your sweet self passing by, first slowly,
happily.
Mom and I watched you walk on the park's yellowed grass;
a small boy, out on your own, headed who knows where.
We wondered
to whom you belonged, and looked around for fam'ly
We hoped someone took note of your determined stroll.
At a run
you started towards the passing cars. Realizing
that you were alone and headed straight for danger,
we ran too
calling sweetly, then running, faster, to catch up
and grab you gently just before your little foot
stepped onto
the road and an SUV passed by our noses.
Still no one came to claim you as their own. A sweet,
sweet, brown boy
with deep brown eyes and barely taller than my knee.
Unafraid,
you followed these white stranger ladies speaking soft
asking where your mommy was; you answering back
gibberish.
Too young. Content to walk with us under shaded
green trees, content to be with these stranger ladies,
following
us over the hill. Bright white fluttering fair tents
and blue, green, purple, shirted milling populace.
My mom said
"See if he'll hold your hand, we're coming up to a crowd."
I hoped you would not rebuff my proffered hand, but,
you reached up
and took it gladly. Your tiny brown hand in my
very white one felt warm and darling. I loved you
that moment.
I was proud to walk through the crowd, possessively,
holding you as if you were mine, my own little
baby boy
bumbling along. Too soon, we met a policeman,
brown like you, but big and broad. He looked on, amused,
I thought then
at seeing us walk up to him with you in tow.
Listening to the story of our fateful find,
he noted
your red chapped cheeks and hoped you weren't neglected.
He recorded our names while I stood there with you.
Mom offered
to adopt you if no one came. I was dreaming;
Maybe you would grow up to be strong, big and kind
like this man.
We walked through the noisy crowd, mom and policeman,
me and sweet you, your hand still warmly held in mine.
Still chatting
gibberish as we noted the tents and displays.
I secretly hoped no one would come so we could
take you home
and you could be mine. For a moment I hoped, but
a lady leisurely walked up and said, only
slightly shocked,
that this was her boy. Her son's boy to be exact.
My heart dropped. Your face did not change at seeing this
intruder.
The Policeman questioned the irate grandmother,
noting, like my mom had, that only one minute
earlier
they saw her casually looking at displays
obviously unconcerned; or just unaware.
She said her
son was supposed to watch “his boy” at the playground.
Though still doubtful, the policeman nodded to me;
I let go
of your small hand. Before the grandmother laid claim,
I gave you a sad smile and watched as you gladly
took the hand
of the big, broad, policeman. You wobbled away
with him and with the lady who claimed to know you.
My heart ached.
Now a mere bystander, my hand still warm with the
pressure of your hand. I watched you disappear and
wished you were
mine forever and not just mine for a moment.