Six Relatives
Every Sunday after church
Old great-aunt Dora
Full bloodied Cherokee,
In her finest dress and fedora,
Drove her pink Cadillac
To the San Joaquin River.
She would stop in the same place
And sat on an old stump,
Under a camphor tree,
By the riverbank,
And would cast her fishing pool,
Drinking her moonshine liquor.
Old widow lady of ninety-two;
My dear mother-in-law
Lives by herself
With nothing else to do.
She sits in her chair
Next to the window
And stare out for hours
With dreams of her past.
She carries a small chrome plated,
Stud nose 22, pistol
With white pearl grips
In her purse.
Don't get in her way,
At the grocery store,
She will ram her cart
Into yours and say,
"Sorry I didn't see you."
Then there’s my sister.
“She’s crazy as a Loon;
Howls at the moon,”
My husband would say.
Her long-distance relationships
All in her mind.
Her husband
Doesn’t seem to mind,
But watches over her shoulder
When she cooks,
To make sure
Everything she uses
Is clean before he eats.
Their two daughters
Walked the same path.
Live in a world
Of hallucinations
And delusions,
In denial
Of their illness
Of schizophrenia.
11/19/2020
Six Relatives Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
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