Gramma This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

By
   Mrs. Preston, someone's here to see you.

Hi, Gramma, it's me.

Ambling along in twilight they

chew rhythmically

Not thinking

Caring

Their tired eyes look in mine

without

Feeling

Meaning

It's me, Gramma, Beth, your granddaughter.

Don't you remember me?

All movements are slow

Labored

As if they are too heavy to

move

So they sit wasting the precious

hours

I got an A on my history report.

Gramma, aren't you proud of me? I miss you.

They are forgotten and are

forgetting

The sun

The moon

The first star

No, I'm not here to take you away-

Don't you know me? Gramma, Gramma

We lock them up

Put them away

For they only serve as reminders

of what we will become

Weak

Vulnerable

Crippled with age

Mom says I can't come here anymore,

that you're not good for me. I don't understand.

We can't give up our false

sense of security so

They must suffer

With their memories as shields

Against us

I love you, Gramma




This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

nana said...
Apr. 29, 2011 at 1:37 pm
What a tender child wrote this.  Gramma is blessed.
 
maskeet said...
May 5, 2009 at 12:40 am
that was awesome. write back.
 
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