It is 7:30 in the evening a Wednesday
And the children have finished their supper yes
It is April 4, 1968
The television makes a noise from the den
Behind the laundry room
He and I sit alone at the table
Bones from lamb chops
Splay over the plates
Empty milk-lined glasses
Stand on the landscape of the oilcloth
Like tree stumps in a meadow
I get up from the table finally
I want to wash the dishes
Put the kids to bed
He sits on at the table
Weary from riding to Chicago
On the 6:19
And out to Waukegan again
On the 4:39
And all the things that happened
In between
I carry dirty dishes
Over to the sink
And look out the kitchen window
My neighbor whose name
I can never remember
Stands above his galvanized tin garbage can
Holds a bag of garbage in his arms
Like a baby wrapped in a receiving blanket
And I let the water run
And stare at my neighbor
As tears roll down his face
I am shaking now
And lean on the white porcelain rim
Of the kitchen sink
Because a man whose name I can’t remember
Weeps
Then my eldest son starts to yell
Words at first I don’t understand
Until a name becomes clear
Martin Luther King Jr.
As he runs back into the kitchen
My knuckles are white
From my grip on the white porcelain rim
Of the kitchen sink
While in my head I hear
A dream explode
Written in 1983, inspired by a Frank O'Hara poem, "The Day Lady Died"
Beautiful. Glad you are feeling better!