When his grandson tugs at his pants leg,
Wanting to see the starlings whistling in the tree outside,
He cannot help but see himself one long-ago day.
Having learned how to stand on his own,
He had tugged at his mother’s leg, wanting to see
What she and the others saw in the near distance.
It was after dusk then, but the built fire
Cast a glowing light as though it were noon.
His mother lifted him the way he lifts his grandson now.
“See?” she had said, pointing to the two lynched negroes
Dangling like the long pods of the catalpa tree,
Which he still loves despite his memory of the lonely couple
Swaying in time with the soft hum of the wind.
“See?” he says to his grandson as the birds fly off.
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