For Robert

For Robert

I threw a nickel into the ugly fountain
at the Berkshire Mall & wished—

       months after Mommy told me cancer
       meant very sick & I told her we should
       bring you soup and tea—

to slide down Penn Avenue stairs, clasp
our tiny hands together, raise voices,

       bounce our bottoms on every step,
       racing up to repeat. Soft splash & clink
       of descending metal, Mommy’s tears

falling on new pink polyester & her whisper:
Baby, I should have told you sooner.