“Don’t you agree, Molly?”
Not Molly. I’m Sarah. Molly’s my grandmother.
Nervous laughter. I put my arm around him.
“Yes, I agree, Poppop.”
“oh? Poppop? I’m sorry. Sarah! That’s right.”
Conversation continues on as if nothing happened.
But I look over and see the deep furrows of his brow.
I know: He knows. He’s forgetting.