She walked six feet behind six years ago

when they first got here, for they were Chinese:

that was the only way they used to know.

The distance did not last. Progress was slow

but true, discarding tired amenities.

She walked four feet behind four years ago.

And now and then he’d dare to say hello,

his English suffering great difficulties.

It was the only way they used to know:

him speaking; her, unable to. Although

as far as he knew, she was there to please.

She walked two feet behind two years ago.

Then she began to lift her eyes and glow

as I jogged past and smiled. She seemed at ease,

as if the way they were, she would not know—

nor he, for lately, they’ve begun to show

off bright American accessories.

This morning, I remarked the way they go

shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm, and so

content, they give each other’s arm a squeeze.

“You got your papers!” I cried. –“How’d you know?”

I told them how they were six years ago.