It’s a run about,
in the pouring rain.
Two days before Easter,
and those bright flowers seem like shame.

Dusk falters,
as she pushes the hood off,
on the far side of the pitiful excuse for an entryway,
says “Heart attack.”

The morbid thought crosses my mind.
Was our surprise visit
really that
bad?

Our aunt is on the phone then, panicky voice.
And we just stare, blankly at each other,
because a year ago, the situations were switched.
(Either way- they’re still somebody’s mother.)

Ten minutes and every cousin south of Shaker knows.
Now it’s her grandmother and my aunt,
when last year it was her aunt and my grandmother-
near death.

We get the family is family and we stick together talk,
that Aunt Me has committed to memory.
This is probably the third time in a year we’ve gotten the speech from her.
(We don’t need to be reminded.)

But maybe I’m kind of thankful for it,
because even though we’re all distant and disconnected,
and my cousin is usually 500 miles away,
today, she’s not.
It gives me someone to weather the storm with.
(The storm you can only understand if you’re one of us.)