By Cedric Tillman

The sun makes the evening hot and thick

but he barely sweats.

On cool summer nights

he might burn the gas wall heater on low.

Most days, one of his girls

or the grands from over the river

come to check on him

but they never spend the night.

Momma says they argued

as long as she could remember.

And Grandma yapped back

like the best of ‘em.

When she was 78,

he pushed her down the four steps

that led up to the front door

and put her in the hospital.

When she got out she came to Bible study

and Ms. Johnnie said

if you want I got something

that’ll bark over here and bite over yonder

but Grandma was nothing like that.

It’s hard to tell what hurts him more

The fact that she’s gone

or that she was more fragile,

hard to say

if he truly misses her or simply

finds life inconvenient

without her

Maybe his memories explain

this constant look of pain and frustration

as if he’s trying to revise his life,

trying to save over something

that won’t erase.