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.