The teacher gave a simple task

(or so it seemed to be)

“Provide some pictures of your past

to show how you have grown:

            -a photo of a baby

            -and when you were one or two”

Instead,

my child has a photograph

of a scowling five year old

They say he won’t feel different,

for everybody grows;

but when they line those pictures up…

to choose which baby’s which--

            -he’s the only five year old

            -the lone brown one of the bunch

It’s then that I want to cry.

            -I cry for you.

            -I cry for me--

                        -and all the things we’ve missed

I call those years

the missing years…

            -the empty years without you

No photos exist

of your pre-orphanage days--

I’ve no baby photos to share.

            -I can’t put together

              a fat photo album

              and list all the firsts in your life

            -I can’t really tell you

              how cute you were,

              or how much you weighed,

              or the time and the place of your birth

Those figures and facts

are a part of that past

that I term the missing years.

But what I can tell you,

with sure certainty,

is how you have filled up my void.

You took what was missing--

            -a part of my soul-

and filled it with your special smile.

I promise you this,

my dear growing boy...

We have each other forever.

            -There will be no more missing years!