We share the bench at a neighborhood park
by the courthouse, watch children play.
 
He says something, maybe in Spanish,
points to a running, laughing boy,
probably his son, about the same age
as my daughter, also running and laughing.

I nod and smile.
 
I point toward my little girl,
say the same thing in English
he most likely said in his language.

He nods and smiles.
 
Like our children's laughter
we require no translation.

From Old Mill Road.
Used here with permission.