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.


Phantom Rain                                                                                                  a sermon