Today we talked, Granny and I.
I told her he was coming to visit.
He'd be here for dinner.
What time she asked.
Then she asked again.
She said she didn't know he was coming.
I snapped at her. I told her- I told you, I'm sorry you don't remember.
I snap at her often, daily, many times daily.
I feel angry at me, fatigued, guilty.
He comes, we have dinner.
We talk, he shares stories from the past.
Toward evenings end Granny nods and agrees when conversation warrants.
I sense her comments driven by obligation, not understanding.
We plan for lunch tomorrow.
The three of us.
He'll pick you up, we'll meet at my office.
Goodnight we say. So nice to see you.
Close the door, prepare for bed.
Judy, you say.
Judy, who was that young man that was here?
Mom, it was Richard.
Don't you remember?
He is your son.