Something Thrown Together

It always felt like I was lying to you.
That’s why I didn’t want to visit
I’m sorry~
my rule-following personality~

Couldn’t handle it as a game of pretend
1. pretend he’s fine
2. pretend she’s alive
3. pretend Mom doesn’t cry
sometimes
and 4.
pretend you don’t sometimes see her when she does so.
I liked lists.

Couldn’t ever write that kind.

Always had a large vocabulary
First grade, wrote that I was fond of her
Hated that journal
Flowers
Seemed so happy
I was so sad

It always felt like I was lying to you.
and really, I now know I never knew you

We had a book
What’s Happening to Grandpa?
Someone else has it now
They needed it once we understood
Always more people
Always more missing

Sometimes I’m scared of what’s waiting in my genes.
And what if I’ll be the mom crying

I wrote a haiku one time.
Few weeks ago. Months, maybe;
I don’t know.
It actually has a title, too.

“My Grandfather had Alzheimer’s”
There’s a genetic
probability that my
mom could break my heart.

Did you ever think about how
Grandmama wrote haiku?
I didn’t know that until I started writing it
and Mom told me.
I guess you didn’t remember that Grandmama was a twin.

Remember, your first date with her,
a blind date,
Evelyn opened the door,
fisrt thing she said,
“I’m not Carolyn.”
I wonder if she thought that same thing later
amid the tears
of being mistaken.
She probably didn’t like to visit either.

When you asked, we’d say
she was teaching.
Grading papers.
Something.

Four years of questions, and it snowed on the day of your funeral.

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2 thoughts on “Something Thrown Together”

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