Sleeping Giant

Near where I was born in Connecticut, there’s a hilly mountain like formation called Sleeping Giant. The way I remember it it’s something I would see from inside the car, looking out the window at the horizon. This low bumpy profile in the hills up a ways from a main road. There’s this place in DC, Hains point, the southern tip of this island in the Potomac river, where there used to be this sculpture, The Awakening. It was arranged to look like this giant, bearded man was buried in the earth, with his face and knee and arm rising from the soil, as if he were breaking free. Or perhaps sinking down, being swallowed up? I have blurry memories of visiting that point as a child. More than once. My dad took me there one morning, just me and him, to watch the planes take off and land at Reagan while eating McDonalds breakfasts off of those styrofoam take out trays. One day soon I’ll find a spot, somewhere near Payne Field maybe, for me and M to watch planes and eat pancakes. There’s another…