America I was I think I was
Seven I think or anyway I prob-
ably was nine I anyway was nine
And riding in the back seat of our tan
Datsun 210 which by the way Amer-
ica I can’t believe Datsun is just
Gone anyway America I was
Riding in the back seat we were we my grand-
mother and I were passing the it must
Have been a mall but I have tried and can’t
Remember any malls in Austin at
The time America but do I really
Remember Austin really I remember
This thing that happened once when I was passing
A mall in Austin so the mall so Austin
But then and when America will my
Grandmother be my memories of her her-
self be replaced by memories of just
Her presence near important or unusu-
al things that happened does that happen will
That happen we America we were
Anyway passing on a city street
But next to it the mall and actually
I might have been in the front seat actually
And maybe it was winter all the windows
Were rolled up maybe or at least the one
Right next to me in the front seat Amer-
ica when for no reason I could see the
Window exploded glass swallowed me the way
A cloudburst swallows a car glass and a
Great stillness flying glass and stillness both
Together then the stillness left and I
Jumped either over my seat or between
The seats into the back America
Or neither here I might just be remem-
bering the one real accident I’ve ever
Been in I was a child still maybe seven
Or nine and we were in an intersec-
tion hit and I for sure jumped then my grand-
mother and I again already my
Memories of the Datsun breaking seem
More solid than my memories of her
America but I remember her
Mobile home filling up with trash until
She couldn’t walk through any room and still she
Walked through her rooms she walked the way I walk
Through stores suspicious and aloof watched e-
ven by the products I consume consumed
By you America O cloud of glass
Copyright © 2018 Shane McCrae. Used with permission of the author. This poem originally appeared in Tin House, Summer 2018.