Joanna Gilman Hyde

The Hawk Dining Room 1:50pm

Yesterday I went back

to the home of My Children’s

earliest childhood —

it stood with dry grass

recently mowed —

a stone bench I had forgotten

under the apple

where I planted myrtle

slowly spreading —

I found My Red Leather Baseball Mitt

left-handed

in an upstairs closet

full of toys

and in the hatchway to the attic

I hoisted My Shoe-less Son

now 28

one-footed upon My Clasped Hands —

He was looking for My Early Sketches

of Self Organizing Galaxy

a mysterious tube

of blue-prints displaying the roof of #5 World Trade Center

We failed to find —

as He came down

He pulled the light bulb string

straining to reach it

and when He let go

the slightly-too-short string

sprung back on itself

without the light turning off

and so My Greatest First Love

had to step into My Hands

a second time

He lowered Himself finally

to a painted kitchen chair

flexing His Lumberjack Muscles

— His Right Upper Arm still scarred

from when He toddled

to a cup of too-hot herb tea

unwittingly set within Peak’s easy reach

upon Our old kitchen table

in the little wooded house His Father and I restored

to cherish