ATLANTIC
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
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
Joanna Gilman Hyde 