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by Aimee Gilman

 

 

He came into the world the way they all do…

I suppose; I really wouldn’t know

of any of the ways of what they all do.

He was never like them.

Apart from the warmth of all of him; a

glowing light that shone, then dimmed,

then shone again,

but only to some of us;

the rest of you were by the way.

He was apart; not a part of the world;

only his world.

The doors, the fans, the movement

of his fingers in front of his face.

The pain and pride in watching him,

always there.

When the fingers stopped flicking and

the doors were replaced by DOOM,

the aching, painful hurt stayed;

marching stride for stride with the pride—

how can that be?

Now I see—no guardian ever

lets his guard down – not really.

It is always in that moment that

the weapon is thrust to its hilt.

The pride is greater than for others, and their mothers;

I know; the pain too. These are

the special rewards of autism.