Grandma's apartment in Queens was my whole wide map Radiator banging at dawn, answering the pipes back Bare feet, cracked tile, window fog across the glass I'd clear one little circle, watch the morning traffic pass Sunday rice and beans, steam curling past my chin Grandma lifted up the lid, then stirred it back in From the fire escape, I counted roofs and passing trains Inside, the radiator knocked; I knew each clang by name
That radiator knocked, and Grandma called me in Queens outside the window, rice and beans within
Years slipped by; my knees outgrew the fire escape ledge That view of crowded rooftops never reached the edge I'd come home wound tight, put my hand against the door Hear the metal start its racket, feel my jaw unclench once more Sunday, Grandma set the pot down; I wiped the plates dry Rice stuck to the serving spoon; she laughed and let it slide I climbed the fire escape; the trains crossed out of sight Back inside, the radiator kept us up that night
That radiator knocked, and Grandma called me in Queens outside the window, rice and beans within
Grandma turned the knob; the knocking softened to a tick I stayed until the kitchen cooled, then helped her stack the dishes
That radiator knocked, and Grandma called me in Queens outside the window, rice and beans within
Queens through the window; that last warm bowl still stays with me
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