to your grandmother, she'd say,
go outside
and play.
leave me alone for awhile.
we'd look at her sitting at the dining
room table,
the wooden chair pulled
out
coffee, her blue lined paper,
her fountain pen.
a pack of cigarettes nearby.
my father's silver lighter
with an anchor on the side.
go, she'd say. scoot, scram.
don't tease your sister,
and shut the door,
the screen door
too, this house is full of flies.
find out why that dog is barking.
so we'd go.
but i wanted to watch her write.
i wanted to see
the words come out of her
mind, from her heart,
run down her arm and
onto the page.
show me how to do this, i wanted
to say.
but she knew
i already knew how.
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