I write for my Grandmother

since she lost her balance. Some days,

I hold her hand. Her equilibrium doesn't seem to be what it used to be.

I write for my Grandmother

on days that her own words slip. Some days,

we smile through the same story two or three times. She's happy.

I write for my Grandmother

in a big house with too many stairs. Some days,

busy people visit and we can hear the happy echos of their feet.

I write for my Grandmother

and I appreciate the timelessness of a pen, for that some day,

I may need to remember.