the red bird

a lace
of stars not unlike
the cloth
upon
your grandmother's table
at
the holidays.
a saucer,
a plate,
a tea pot.
how small you were, reaching
up
to stare
at her clock,
the one with the bird,
painted red
and the pine
cone weights.
how she moved the hands
with a stick
making it appear
on a small tray,
and coo.
somehow these stars
remind you
of that.