I step under the oak's
         broad shadow late
sun doubles the lawn's
         flickering tongues

and I am seven again
         I have come
to my grandmother Dorothy's house
         all the children do

Here are thick
         succulents the bittersweet
geranium terra cotta pots
         she teaches me to fill first

the tiny stone
         the earth the seeds
or I am indoors
         on her green sofa sipping

buttermilk from a ruby tumbler
         and she tells me again
how they watch her
         all day in the kitchen

in the garden those men
         from the radio but there is nothing
to be afraid of she says
         no one will hurt you

but then suddenly
         I am with my father
in his car holding
         a small radio a gift

from Dorothy to my ear
         as I have seen her do
I listen as attentively as she
         and he turns to me

and he tells me
         the truth about Dorothy
your grandmother's mind
         is not right he says

she thinks like a child
         of course yes how
could I have believed her
         I step back into the light

nothing she has told you is true