I don’t know why I thought coming to my grandmothers house was a good idea. She passed last fall and now my aunts and uncles and cousins are divvying up all her stuff..all the furniture I spent my childhood surrounded by.
I didn’t go to the funeral.
I never grieved.
This is all still fresh to me.
This is my funeral.
I can’t be here,
I’m so far behind
my aunts in this process
Only my mom notices my silence.
This wound,
This bruise busted open
by the flurry of movement,
by the gathering of blood
by la familia
Her living memory, her legacy.
I shouldn’t of come.

