I stop at the bakery, get the everything bagel
loaded with cream cheese for my grandfather.
He sits at his workbench with the giant loupe over his eye
looking deeply into a watch.
He’s coughing again, trying to stay steady.
When he hears the dog, he looks up. Buddy!
Buddy spins around, all tail and tongue
and feet scratching on the wood floor.
How are you doing?
I hold up the pumpkin. Buddy is coming with me.
Well you better get going,
the days are getting shorter.
I see the treasure box on the shelf.
I think about the clay, my arm gets cold,
I smell wet earth in my nostrils like a sudden breeze.
Grandpa, there’s clay in the stream behind Malia’s house.
Do you think that clay might be magic, too?
He looks at me, pets the dog,
lowers his cup of tea,
lets Buddy take a drink,
which makes him sneeze.
Who am I to say?
Sometimes the old world and the new world
are just the same place at different times.
Maybe, Etan.
I empty my backpack except for the notebook
and make room for a pumpkin.