The Little Man
The Hawk Kitchen 5:07pm
When I was A Little Girl
My Grandfather had a bedtime ritual
out on Our Summer Porch in Jordan Bay:
“Say Good Night To The Little Man”
so I would say Good Night each night
to a little seated fishing figure
dressed like Waldo
in a knitted striped sweater
holding a fishing rod
He sat on a pile of pretty rocks and shells
in a corner display case — how
could My Grandfather ever have known
that My Mother would name
Her Single-channel McNutt Island Weather Radio
“The Little Man”
& that She would take Him to bed
& rest Him on Her Chest
listening to His droning, squeaky Voice
lulling Her to sleep?
How could My Grandfather ever have known
that twenty years after My Mother died
I would put My Self to sleep
every night while My Husband holds My Hand
with a rumination about A Little Man
I see linked to Me
from where I began
to where I will end
when I see no beginning
no end?
