One - She cursed his name, and I resented her for it. She screamed at the top of her lungs, and my ears bled deep like the cuts on her heart. She was livid, boiling with the same amount of passion that divided my family in the first place. It wasn't clean either, the type of incisions you see doctors make on tv. No! It was jagged, like the knife to the flesh of meat in a factory, choppy and not at all easy to recover from.
Two - Stood by the window on our knees, praying to God that he would come through the driveway at any minute. Kept silent and tried to look away, because "you look just like your father" stopped feeling like a compliment. Slammed doors, and locked us out. So what's the point of staying in the same house, if you're just as absent as he is.
Three - Adaptation covered me like the algae on an abandoned pond. Skin rose like yeast at the mention of his name, cat eyes grew in dark places, words hissed in open spaces, I changed, twisted, and itched at reason. Performed exorcisms on old family photos, thought maybe this will bring us back together. Got angry, blamed her for everything, panicked at night, and cried until morning. With puffy eyes I soon realized, a broken vow can never be healed with childish wishes. No amount of lost teeth could make any fairy deliver us, plus dust was just something I found underneath couches, and I could rub my lamp until my hands peeled but the only G I saw was in the words "grow up."
Four - Decided to heal
Five - Belly warm with Nana's bread, we expanded. Stretched arms towards my mother and sister and hugged a little longer each time. Said "I love you" at the end of each phone call to make sure she knew she was. Big brown eyes and a heavy heart, Frida said "leaking something so strong you could smell it in the streets." And you could, but it was sweet. Wrapped us warm, glued us tight, "three musketeers" redefined to a woman and her daughters deciding to love each other.
Six - And it was enough
