her boyfriendâlucky.
But, Girl, weâre lucky ones, too.
Roof over our heads, even if itâs five
in a two-bedroom apartment
and seems like thereâs always
someone in the bathroom.
Legally employed ⦠mostly.
Brandy sells a little pot,
adds to what she
gets as a telemarketer.
        Sheâs saving for surgery.
Weâre lucky to be giving thanks
with the family weâve chosen.
Show the world
your essence
and you find out
faster than a
five-dollar hand job
whoâs family
and whoâs not.
The ugly-ass
Sperm Donor
who beat the crap
out of you for
dressing like yourself?
A cracked rib
the least of the pain.
Who sent you to
âHoods in the Woodsâ
after your mama died?
Thinking theyâd teach you
how to be a manâ
like learning to catch fish
and dig a latrine
to shit in
could change your DNA,
your soul.
Who You Are.
The asshole
who threatened
to call the police
after he threw you out
just âcause you snuck back
to see your
baby brother
and the little guy used to
cry and beg for you to stay
because he lost his mother
and his sister the same year,
                  then he was the lost one?
No, the Sperm Donor
is NOT family.
I count my
blessings and
thank God.
(Vanessa)
Itâs the American Way
of an American holiday.
Mom jokes that my father and Uncle Michel
have embraced it too fully since
moving here twenty years ago.
Too much turkey, stuffing, gravy,
mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie.
Before they settle down
to snooze in front of the TV,
Dad waves me over to commence
the Thanksgiving ritual of gently rapping my leg
with his knuckles to hear if itâs hollow.
            âWhere does such a little girl
            hide so much food?â he asks,
            eyebrow cocked, fake puzzlement.
âIâm not telling you!â I play along, jerking away
while he tries to hang on and we tussle.
Yeah, itâs dorky and we both know
Iâm too old for the gameâ
but I think he thinks itâs fun
to see the disapproval radiating
off Grand-maman.
            âLucas! Sheâs a young lady,â
            his mother scolds.
My father catches my eye,
winks, then shares a smirk
with Uncle Michel.
            âStrange, no? A young lady
            with a hollow leg she hides food in!â
            My father gives me one last tickle.
I walk back into the kitchen
to tell Mom Iâm going out
but sheâs already (discreetly)
headed upstairs
probably to escape Grand-maman,
who follows me, practically
catching me with her claws.
                        âWhere is your young man?â
âHome.
I thought Iâd go hang with him
for a couple hours.â
                          âLet him come to you.
                          Men chase women, chérie ,
                          this is the nice way.
                          They run from the ones
                          who get that wrong.â
I nod (respectfully) and
sit down at the breakfast bar,
flip the pages
of Sunset