Grandmother

The night before my grandmother died I promised to go see her, and to bring a poem I had just written so I could read it aloud to her before she went to bed.

I was in a convertible that belonged to a very handsome boy, and he was driving so fast I couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of wind against my eardrums.

I yelled for him to take a left turn, down the road that led to my grandmother’s house, and he slipped his hand between my legs, and I told him to keep driving.

The poem was in my pocket. We fucked in his back seat while, across town, my grandmother decided to shut her eyes for a moment, just before company came.