because the trauma is still the same

roadside buck stew
heating up on the stove
as i chop garlic,
whisk dressing,
saute onions

two kinds of wine sipped out of little jam jars
and two kinds of grape juice for the kids
and a city food array of cheese and crackers
that catherine and nathaniel imported from st. louis
and how we gather and snack at the picnic table
near the end of a surpise balmy day

sampha playing through the speakers
which seems like a perfect smooth lilt
for spring
as i scrub carrots and slice onions

the email that says your grandma was never in a work camp
but was taken to germany under false pretenses where she did forced labor in the agricultural sector for the war efforts
and how this changes everything and nothing at all
because the trauma is still the same

mica and i laughing at the image of her
showing up to the kids’ nerf gun war
with an automatic nerf gun and strapped
with hot pink foam bullets
criss crossing her
how catherine and i groan on the couch
because of the too weird echoes of the actual world about actual guns
when emory says it’s not safe to show up
to the crew of kids with nerf guns
if he doesn’t have his too
the one-person-at-a-time rule
on the tour of the cedar room
which smells still thickly
of flax oil


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