Your arms slung
under my head and knees, and
though you had cleaned the gutters all day
and mowed the lawn
and dusted the webs from the shed, you
raised me from the undignified
slump on the couch
though you were tired
and carried me to my bed.

I was here once before.
Carried by a different man's arms.
I was smaller then.
My room scattered in Lego pieces
and plastic dinosaurs
now houses mountains of clothes and books
like Smaug piled his gold.

I was here once before,
but he is too old now to carry me
and I, too tall.
But you remind me of him.
You are young and strong enough
to lift me as he once did.

Perhaps, someday, he will see
and thank you for doing what he
no longer can.

Meanwhile
tears sting my eyes
as I realize
I have never been, nor will I ever be
strong enough to carry him
as you now carry me.