MY
GRANDMA
Outside. The sun hurts my eyes.
"Where are you going?"
"I want to take a walk. I'll walk home."
241
I walk, a slow walk, walking the squares square by square up
the sidewalk, counting the squares, past speckted lawns and trees
speckling sunlight on boxed houses. I walk on, square by square,
sometimes -counting them, to a hill, and down the hill past a
squatting railroad station. I walk past men and women caged in
baggage, past a boxcar or two, jumping across the brown crusted
rails
from rail to rail, past the sunshined rails to a place on the
other side, a pebble cliff I've sat on before.
Below the pebble cliff, growing out where it bottoms, there
is
a
patch of dead ground. I trace its shape: a grey sunken triangle, or
roughly a
triangl~
if I patch up a comer and ignore another.
An
old woman it could be. Wind in the hair on Grandma's shriveled
prune. In a quick dream I run the hillside down down and fall and
rub myself deep down into the down on the ground.
THE SCHOOL OF LETTERS
INDIANA UNIVERSITY
1964-65
Summer, Fall, and Spring Courses
On the graduate level in the theory and practice of
literary Criticism
Including work toward advanced degrees in
Criticism, English literature, and Comparative literature
John Logan
Erich Heller
Summer Courses by:
Nathan Scott, Jr.
Henry Rago
Scholarships available to qualified students for both
summer session and regular academic year
Add~ess
inquiries to:
THE SCHOOL OF LETTERS
Indiana University
208 S. Indiana Avenue
Bloomington, Indiana
