the space between my heart and theirs

We the queens spilled out into the French countryside

with lemons in our hair and lavender cigarettes on our lips

The crashing waves remind us of our collapsing upcoming

so we stay away from the salty seashore sidewalks

Instead we find ourselves in grocery store parking lots

connect the dots of our family lineage and trimming the family apricot tree

Our memories are not perfect, but we reminisce them always

We like to dust off encyclopedias and clasp hands in the rain

only to get a phony pneumonia we sense in our souls

The eye rolls commence our dinner and the beer salutes our napkins

We get haircuts before July and notice them in December

but we will never neglect the heartache and rug burn

When the trees sway and the blue jay sings

we only trust the waxing moon to show us the way home.
 
This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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