A Poem I Wrote after the First Snow of the Season

I Recognized the Mitten

 

as soon as I saw it,

gray fuzzy leather

and a wide wristband

(to keep snow out)

stitched with gold thread,

horizontal lines crossed with V’s going up and down around the band.

I must have dropped it there

sixty years ago

while checking to see

if my glasses were

in my pocket (they weren’t, they were lost again)

as I walked home from school

in mid-December.

 

Of course it’s not really the one I dropped—one of the many  I lost over the years—

it was dropped by some kid,

some forgetful kid whose mind was so full of plans for a snow fort

or the plot of a Hardy Boy book or the wonder of sailing ships like the three Columbus

sailed,

some kid, one of hundreds all over the state

who lost a mitten yesterday

after the first snowfall of winter, kids who are constantly

driving their mothers crazy

because they lose their mittens and glasses

and forget

to take out the trash or feed the dog,

mothers who love their forgetful sons dearly even though they threaten them,

cajole, whine,

in an effort  to get them to

develop a bit of consistency,

carry out a plan,

bring their homework home,

return an overdue library book.

And these boys

have by now been diagnosed as ADD

and are probably taking medicine for it

or at least getting special strategy training to help them remember all of the terribly important things

they usually forget

like taking a pencil to class or putting their name on the paper or checking to see if they have both mittens

before they head for home.

 

Shall I pick it up, the mitten?

Bring it to the school down the street?

I think I shall even though I know its owner will forget to check for it in the lost and found tomorrow.

He may not even miss it for a day or two.

I wish I could talk to him, tell him it’s not as bad as they think it is,

tell him that once upon a time

before adults invented ADD, a boy would just be called forgetful

and though he would never quite grow out of it,

he could survive adulthood with it.

Tell him just keep having fun, keep doing your best.

You may freeze your fingers a few times or get

an F for not turning in the book-report you lost on the way to school. 

But everything will be all right

in the end.