The Stone My Grandson Gave Me

Abstract

Bright yellow, like his hair, and shadowed, the one side flat so it could rest here on my desk, a simple fragment of something bigger, something it seems now heaven-sent, waiting for us on the sidewalk, where his blue eyes spied it as we strolled together down the town’s one wide maple-lined street toward the old brick church, where he meant to race down the length of the muddy grass embankment, then charge up the neo-Georgian porticos and hide.