Sugared Silence of a Child

When I was 7, I asked
my grandmother about the dying.
There was something the others
were not telling me. Even
a child knows.

Her hands turned
to iron. She grabbed me
roughly, and forced a sugar cube
into my mouth, sealing my lips
tightly with her shaky hands.

As the sugar burst, I knew
the truth. The dying
is closer every time you ask.