a poem as my grandmother
when I long for you, big brother, I long for sundays – how we skipped church and spent our mornings hiding in the laundromat smelling of mildew and damp socks – the one with the window covered in streaks and spiders – talking, laughing about nothing, until the day mom saw us sitting in front of the large window across the street from our house – mom was furious, but grandma laughed till she cried and begged her not to punish us – and how she stayed for dinner – and I don’t remember what we had that night, but I remember waking up so early to the smell of tomato sauce simmering in the kitchen – dad standing at the stove, stirring, singing to himself – so it was probably spaghetti, and mom probably made banana cream pie (my favorite) or lemon meringue (your favorite) – and how if it wasn’t spaghetti, it was crispy fried chicken and buttery potatoes – and how we never went hungry – even when all we had was ketchup and half a loaf of white bread – and how we spent nights listening to music together – how those little 45s echoed through the room – and some nights, mom played the piano by ear, not by book – and we hovered around her and sang along – and you knew every singer and the words to every song.
when I think of sundays, I think of you – how you were my whole world and how I was yours – best friend, big brother – and I think of how you were always fighting by my side – and when you weren’t anymore I didn’t know what to do or who I was or how to keep going – but I did – and finally I can listen to those 45s again and taste lemon meringue pie and do all the things we did together – because you’re still here in my heart – and I know when I see you next – you’ll be able to tell me the name of the song that starts to play when I see you again —
This piece was originally published in All My Relations (vol. 1), August 2021
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