When we eat in the dining room at Summerwood
my grandmother prefers to sit toward the back,
her back against the wall so she can watch
the servers as she stashes into her purse
a dinner roll, a baked potato, or
a slice of cake. Are you not allowed
to bring food back to your apartment? I ask
but her shaking hands require more concentration
than either of us are willing to admit. She looks
out the window. Looks like rain, she says.
Summerwood
