My family is full of wounds,
that fill me with words.
My cousin skin is full of wounds,
whenever one starts to close
another one opens, she has bruises
around her mouth. Says that there's
no cure for her illness. Says that
when her stress fades away,
so will the wounds. But everyday
it just seems worse.
Wears long sleeves everywhere,
in this heat. Every day I read
the shame in her eyes.
The baby is bright,
is beautiful, is getting so so big.
dances to every song, doesn't matter
the genre, doesn't matter the sound.
Her body is unaware, her heart is unaware.
But the baby has poland syndrome and she's
going to be aware one day. She's gonna realize
that one of her arms is not growing, that one
of her breast will not exist. But we ain't there
yet. So I try not to think about it.
I look at her eyes and all I can is smile,
all I can do is sing. She's here and that's a blessing.
My other cousin has developed
an allergy, her stomach is full of red spots.
says its because of the fabric of her uniform,
says she already has medication, says
she's gonna get better, that we believe.
but her sadness is something I need
more space in a page for.
My mother has hurting knees,
doesn't work twelve hours a day anymore
but feels like she does. She blames it
on everything, her age, her weight
does not acknowledge that she needs
to rest, sometimes my cousins won't let
her rest. Before I realized that my mother
was just as broken as me. I used
to blame her for the way I was cursed.
my mother is aching, and aging.
but she's the most beautiful woman
on earth.
My other cousin's marriage fell apart,
one day she came to my house with all her things
she said she was tired, that the husband is ungrateful says the step kid is ungrateful, says she ain't got to
put up with any of that. After a week she went back home, but her heart has been elsewhere.
and then there's me,
that all along judged all these women,
that all along taught there was nothing as big
as the pain inside my chest, but when childhood fell down and reason slipped through all my forgotten
parts. I realize that all these women gave all these poems to me. I owe them everything.
