SULLY: SIXTEEN MONTHS
One more thing to keep:
my second grandson, just
pre-speech, tripping on a rug,
skidding, bump and yowl,
and tears, real tears
rushing down his cheeks,
till Jessie, cooing, lifts
and holds him to her,
and so it’s over, but as
they’re leaving to go home,
he and I alone a moment
where the fall took place,
he shows me, look,
how it came to pass, this
awful thing; no words yet,
but he trills syllables
for me, syllables with hurt
in them, and sadness,
and that greater cry
containing them, and lets
himself flop down:
right here, he’s saying,
on just this spot, precisely
here it was, and yes,
I answer, yes, and so have
the chance to lift him, too,
so supple, light and lithe,
to commiserate and comfort, too.
—from Rattle #17, Summer 2002