The rusted red wagon
Anchored by granddad on the porch
Once roamed the seas
With little boys battling Midway
And in royal gold filigree
Pulled Ms. Queen the border collie
On bumpy London cobblestones
It cradled the sod for mom’s petunias
And spilled with cloying sweetness —
A childhood Garden of Babylon.
On a wintry night, I lay my hand against your cheek
And told you a fairy tale my grandfather once read to me.
In that forgotten memory, he sparks to life once again.
A bittersweet joy rouses in my heart,
Makes rich the honey of my words,
Provokes the desire to hold you carefully in comfort;
To adore you as he simply once adored me —
That giving reserved only for children,
And although we no longer laugh so freely
I press my palm to yours
And in the silence know, our heart lines have met
And embraced each other.