Grandma

You try to pick up something from the cold tiles on the floor. There is nothing there but yet you scratch the ground. Yam. You explain that you are trying to pick up yam from the ground. For the soldiers. And you nonchalantly ask us to put the salt on the table for their porridge.


Grandma Grandma, why did it turn out this way? Is this what happens when men grow old? They return to their cheerless past, and forget the hopeful present?


Do you still remember me Grandma?