it’s only been a few months since i’ve been to my grandma’s apartment, but i can barely find my way there. trees have been chopped down, formerly beige (or was it white?) walls repainted a strange minty green, white dividers laid on the road. there’s now a bike lane on one side, but it is being blocked by an old lady in a wheelchair.
but i recognize the canal, formerly with plastic bags and paper cups frozen to its icy surface now with grandpas in speedos (or underwear, i can’t tell and i’m too embarrassed to look for long) lounging on the steps and splashing around.
and i know when to turn because there are still the same men at the same street corner playing chinese chess (象棋), but now with their shirts off.
and i find that the door to my grandma’s building has locks now, but a middle-aged lady, arms full of shopping bags, sees me pause at the steps, so she walks over, fumbles with her keys, and lets me in with a wordless smile.
and i walk up the same stairs i’ve walked up since i can remember, the stairs my 88 year old grandma climbs alone every day, with the sound activated lights, up to the dusty green metal door with the impossible to open lock, and the door creaks and groans and bangs a few times before my grandma pushes it open.
hog maw 