I’m not at all sure of what to do.
I hear the stories from my aunt
from my sister too.
Her boyfriend of a year dropped
her onto the lawn of my aunt’s house
like you would drop something
on the curb for trashman, for recycling.
When I get back to the Vagabond I ask her
how did it happen? what came before?
how does one wind up on the curb of their aunt’s house
after dinner on a Monday night with no place to go?
They just don’t want me. It’s like I have cooties or something.
In the coming months I will hear more and more
the bruises left on people’s hearts and skin
the naked wanting that translates and gyrates
into blushing and damnation
shield the children’s eyes sort of thing.
How do you hold someone who is on fire?
I’m a cootie catcher, She says when I take her
for groceries. No one wants to be around me.
They’re afraid it’s catching.
I think of the times I drank with her
me and my two drink moderation.
Her and her finished bottles
I think of other times
one hit for me to her all night long.
At the grocery store she buys finger foods
like she’s hosting a party.
Our grandmother is in the hospital
it’s Easter tomorrow. My sister grabs a couple of bottles
of wine before check out.
We can party later. She says. We can get everyone to come over to the motel pool for a party…
I try to remain pokerfaced.
My aunts and cousins and I surrounding the hospital bed
hoping she makes it through as none of us are ready for grandma to go.
Later my sister is angry that no one wants to party,
that we all are too nervous to leave the hospital.
That we clearly love grandma more than her.
I ask her if she wants to go to the hospital. She says no.
A few hours later when I check in
the bottles are in the wastebasket.
I can’t stay. I’m leaving in two days.
She’s out of money. No one will give her more.
She’s caught the big cootie.
I can feel the choice in my throat.