This is called "My Happiness."
That spring day I stood in the new grass
and watched the man cutting steel
with an arc welder, the man my mother had just married.
I watched as he leaned in his welder's mask
and held a blue white star to a steel rod
until it was glowing with heat.
A cloud drifted in front of the sun and darkened the land,
the way sweat darkened his back.
Then with some slip of the body or misjudgment
of a man given over wholly to his work,
a piece of glowing metal fell like a tiny meteor
into his boot.
His hand went down, his fingers seared,
then the smell of burnt flesh, a groan of pain,
and the crazy hopping.
He fumbled in his pocket for a knife, slit open the boot,
and swatted the hot metal off his ankle.
What could I do?
I ran for mother and bucket of water.
In that spring day I remember my happiness
as I poured the cold water over his wound,
and she put her arm around his neck, and the sun came out,
and the mysterious healing began.
And he was saying, "Oh, Jesus."
And she was saying, "Oh, honey."
[APPLAUSE]