I’m reading a book about love
recommended it to me.
I blindly trust her taste
in books
men
food
art.
She also has the best tattoos,
I almost wish I was into girls.
In the book there is a bit
about family secrets.
When my grandmother was dying,
which was a secret in itself
(since my father didn’t tell her
she had lung cancer),
she told me that
one day
her 26-year-old mother
packed her suitcase
and told her
“Lola,
if I die
tell them to lay me
on the big oak table
in the dining hall.”
My great-grandfather
(that I imagine wearing a top hat
like in those pictures of him
at the races) was positive
four daughters were enough
so he sent her away
to get her uterus
pierced by a butcher
and bleed to death.
My grandmother
grew up
in boarding schools.
She turned into
a hard, hurtful woman
who understood love as reward
not as unconditional acceptance.
Her only son
would be
the Genius
the perfect child
with a double life,
the kind of person
you don’t want as a father,
and chances are
I am exactly like him.
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