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