trauma_dumping_on_a_thursday Jus It's always the same memories the dry, beating sun on dirt the heat felt like acid on my skin deer flitting through grass patches surrounded by a chicken wire fence that I helped build before I was in the double digits step-dad clipping the wings of spring chickens high on mushrooms his roommate hid them on a pizza meant it to be fun for his birthday he started tripping and almost killed a bird then fucked my bestfriend's mom in the barn my second mom dead now she ODed (10 days before getting her daughter out of the system she put her in) a needle in her arm put there by a guy named Gary he had kind eyes I was hesitant to feel gratitude for my own mother she fed us but even when she was there she was far away battling demons in a smoked filled basement I knew what weed smelled like when my shoes were still Velcroed My favourite uncle stuck his tongue in my ear then told me I was eating too much Christmas chocolate I was "getting tubby" I blamed his meds he was dying he's dead now and I still miss him his wealth his perceived success how successful can you be from a grave you dug yourself always talking about travelling with his wife after retirement she followed him she shut the blinds and watched Tragically Hip concerts projected on the wall of her "gated community" home until Downie died too and then she left almost by design he was the last part of her husband I hope they’re together now travelling in the ether forever Grams took her last breath in the hospital Grandpa, gripping her arm I held onto his shoulders support for us both he thought she was getting better my aunt wiped a warm, damp cloth across her forehead and told her she was back at the beach I heard her sigh in relief I heard her breathe deep and let go when it was done gramps shook her and said "wake up Doe" we called her Doe short for Doris she was tall even though she was 5 foot 1 I still wear mumus and big sun glasses in her honour Gramps left by choice he always said he would die in bed his last words were, "well, I'm going now" I was proud he manifested the shit out of that God's Country my grandparent’s property Lake Erie spanned for miles off a dock he built now their vacant house haunts my dreams I see grams standing in the doorway unmoving darkness all around maybe she's still there maybe I'm still there too always halfway between the liminal and whatever reality I've constructed for myself out of shitty memories and the false sense of security enforced by sit-com reruns and the warm glow of consumerism. 250116 what's it to you? who go blather from