Trailer trash,
that’s what the kids
called Tressa.
Picture words formed
a maze with a borderless
frame above the fireplace.
Seeing Tressa today,
gazing through the kitchen window
of her three-story home;
you’d never know.
As kids, they didn’t care.
We didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I was once that kid.
I teased her because
all the nice things
I had to say, bordered
on x-rated, which transpired
before I knew what to do with lust.
But love, love changes things.
Hell, love changes everything.
At least it did so for me.
And for Tressa.
And we grew a hell of a lot
before she said, I do.
God’s given me shame to shred
words that sting.
But learning from my mistakes
makes love what it is,
and it’s why you’re here, kid.
“Tressa is my grandma?” Sasha said, wiping her damp lashes.
I nodded. “Mrs. High-Class.”
“Grandpa.” Sasha leaned over to embrace me. “This your way of telling me Derek deserves a second chance?” She brushed a stream from her cheek.
“Deserve?” I said, almost questioning myself. Just a chance to explain himself.”
“I’ll give him that,” Sasha said. “I gave Derek a second chance because of your grandfather, and that’s why you’re here,” Sasha whispered as she rocked her newborn.