this fairytale life
I’m waiting to find
what it will take from me
this thoughtless virus
this incomprehensibly fortunate life
no one in my bloodline got off easy
every one of them suffered
their own bit of soul-crushing loss
the stillborn babies
the blue eyes that went blind
the mother who starved herself
and the one who died a week after childbirth
the father who drank himself to death
or the one whose legs went blue at 40
there’s even the girl
who, walking across the room
on Christmas Day
while drinking from a glass,
tripped and sliced her throat open
(I could not concoct
this degree of Grimm fairy tale darkness –
my sister and I were told and retold
this tale, warned never to take a step
with a glass lifted to our lips)
when her distraught father went to fetch the priest
instead of consolation he found an open palm –
Father demanded payment first –
and my grandfather’s grandfather’s voice went cold
he paid upfront
and as soon as the Mass ended
he ordered the whole family out of the Church
his faith dead alongside his daughter
there are no happy-ever-afters in our family
and precious little happy at all
this is why I go around
forehead to earth
incredulously thanking
each leaf each breath
each lovely soul in my life
always wondering when
it will all come undone
