Cwdw Now

I still don’t know what grade I got. But I know I passed something that mattered.

My pen hovered. I thought of my grandmother’s hands, folded in her lap at the nursing home last Sunday. I thought of the way light breaks through a glass of water on a windowsill. I thought of the fact that I have never told my father that his laugh sounds like an old screen door—rusty, familiar, and the safest sound I know. I still don’t know what grade I got