My last memory of Memama
I did what little boys do.
Harassed my little sister.
Stepped over the line.
Memama tried to grab me
to give what would have been a light pat.
But I was too young and she was too old.
I was too fast and she was too slow.
So I ran and she fell behind.
She shuffled a circuit of yard.
Came back to her door.
Fixed me a look.
And walked away, chagrined.
What thoughtlessness.
What kind of grandson I was.
If I’m lucky, one punished with interest.