Joanna Gilman Hyde

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?