The wind feels like jello
Said my son, commenting
From our car's back seat
Windows down wide as they'd roll
Back when four-year-olds
Did not yet require or even know
About car seats,helmets and belts
Or any of our next great restraints
To keep one‘s safety in place.
I then recalled aloud
An older earlier day
When we two had walked
To a long-forgotten place
Mission important
Now mission Unknown.
And a square block of wind
(A block from the tongs
Of a toiling iceman
Slipping from tenement
Stairs' top floor)
Pushed feet and steps backwards
Yet somehow everything stood:
Wind, Iceman and All
Still in the face of the wind.
'Til my son gave a shout, crying:
"Mommy, make it go 'way!"
I can‘t; it‘s the wind–
We can only head home
Or seek shelter. I can carry you to safety
But I'll never be able to stop the wind."
The Memory of the Ice Man's Block of Wind
Had been stirred by my child's own Mother!
Now for the child comes the loss of
Jello wind and the first embrace
Of the Iceman once forgotten.