A Boy and His Father; A Mother and her Son

un garcon et son pere
we watch them together,
my son and I, he still wearing his
down jacket and boots, hunched
forward on the couch, me slouched
on the couch, head on pillow
warm under a blanket that has
seen too much dog.
the boy and his father
drive to Mecca, the boy
always speaking French,
his father, Arabic, yet they come
to understand each other in spite
of their different tongues,
as we do on the same couch,
me speaking the language of motherhood,
he that of a young man bursting forth
into a new world.