Tuesday, September 2, 2008


As a child we'd go up north

a trip that seemed to last forever

in my mother's rickety old van

I'd count each roll of the wheels

as being closer to Grandma

as mom talked about her job

and the economy

with dad silent in the front

Grandma and I would play by the beach

and as the boys ran over the dunes

tumbling down the hills

laughing and dirty

I'd laugh and chase them down

Grandma would say that

we would make a cute couple


when I was older

When I was older I would sit

by the hospital bed

wondering when the ravages of time

has visited

and why I hadn't noticed

I stared at Grandma's hands

the veins like roads on a map

straining out through parchment

Her fingers made careful movements

as we played chess

and she would ask

"When is the wedding?"

Still later, when I was still older

With a career that kept me up late

and cats to keep me company

and little time to drive up north

I sat at the dusty table with my mother

and the words tumbled out of me like

dice rattling out of a hand

"I'm gay"

Mom laughed and said she had suspected

and that it would be all okay

and wasn't it nice that we lived

in a world that it could be okay

There was a long hug, then a pause

A whispered caution

"Don't tell Grandma"

Submitted by Cassandra

About the Author: "I'm a 17 year old feminist. This poem isn't autobiographical, but it popped into my head one day at work and wouldn't get out." See more of Cassandra's work at NoLittleLolita.

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