How To Be My Aunt

Alt Title: The Blood You Make

(February, 2011)

First of all,
you can never be my aunt,
not really,
because my mother has no sisters.

First, you have to marry my asshole uncle.
He is, however, an Addicted Schemer,
so I wouldn’t recommend it.
He will make you eat nothing but oatmeal
for weeks on end
but he will deliver into your womb a miracle
that you will spend the rest of your life marveling at.

You must own a tan-and-pine-scented Corsica in the nineties
to drive my little ass around in when I am nine
and will not stop playing Greensleeves
on a strange little keyboard in the backseat:
also yours.

You must have cats,
always cats,
inexplicably cats,
even though you do not particularly care for cats,
but you feed them anyway because you hate to think of
any Body going hungry.

Perhaps you know what it is
to be hungry.

You must be strong.
Stronger than belts and cancer and fibromyalgia.
Stronger than death and heartbreak and especially
Addicted Schemers.

You must work tirelessly,
for decades,
(two point five of them, to be precise)
to teach your not-niece that
Nothing is more important than Family.

Blood is,
after all,
thicker than water.

Especially the blood you make.


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