By Morgan Williams
I watched the grandma pull back the teenager
when the pedestrian sign wasn’t in his favor,
but he was too engrossed in his screen to notice.
I saw him stutter a thank you to her
as she smoothed out the area on his shirt
that she used to keep him alive.
They waited until the light signaled them to cross
and he walked alongside her,
half in gratitude and half in fear,
and I wondered to myself if he would
ever feel safe crossing the street without her again.
I trailed behind them, astonished because
I couldn’t even see the halo around her grey strands.