The town’s roads were under construction
Dirt and dry, almost fluffy
This funeral was for the lady who made my first baby blanket
Pale yellow
An avid Elvis fan
A great-aunt
Not sure if she was an actual aunt
A record player played her favorites
It skipped and got restarted
Several times
“A-don’t be cruel,”
“Oh my love, my darling,”
The preacher’s sermon felt like an audition
He looked and pointed at my grandmother
And said
“You’re next”
I couldn’t help but laugh
The air smelled of mildew and hot sun baths
Leaving the home, I stepped side-by-side
With my middle sister
And a few steps ahead of my mother
This was a scene from a movie
And it felt uncomfortable
I watched my family cringe
I tried really hard not to smile
“I’m not sure why I’m here”
I was in my early 20s, still felt obligated
To acknowledge the strangers that
I had lived with for 18 years