I stood over the body of someone I
was supposed to love. My aunt & her bones
gone brittle. My aunt & her breasts gone, chopped off
at the hardness behind them. No marrow would take.
No cell would align. She wasn’t a nice woman. She left
me no good word to say. Had great legs. Long. Had
a smile I saw in old cheerleading photos. Pulled out
my cousin’s weave once, smashed her head into
a mirror on Christmas. Only one who could make
my mom scream over the phone. At the funeral,
30 men came. All in suits, all made speeches. All said,
“she was the love of my life. I will take
care of her girls.” I stood up there & spoke.
Like them, I lied.
**Originally published in Pank**