Fallout (Crank 3)

that’s a cliché, but compared

to any other kitchen I’ve ever

spent time in, this one is always

the gathering place. Warm.

Spice-scented. Spilling laughter

and conversation. Today there

is more. Today there is reunion.

And, for some of us, relationships

too new to quite comprehend.

Grandma Marie is at the counter

kneading dough. Aunt Leigh

and Aunt Misty play cards at the table.

Autumn hovers in a corner, trying

to make sense of what these women

mean to her. I know the feeling well.

Might as well try the direct approach.

“Hi, Autumn,” I call across the short

expanse of tile. My feet follow, until

I stand in front of her. “I’m Summer….”

SHE IS WARY

Like a caged cat, escaped,

but unsure of the wild lands

beyond the bars. I understand.

Already, we walk common ground.

It is tenuous turf, riddled with

the rifts and earthquakes of our

personal histories. We confess

scenes. Abbreviated clips.

With her soft Texas drawl

and faux hippie wardrobe,