0. Death
My Choctaw grandpa died
one cold January morn,
surrounded by his son,
his family,
and his wife.
1. Isolation
In a nursing home,
She had left him,
had overcome her grief –
moved on –
Long before we did.
2. Anger
Less than a year,
she remarried at the VFW;
he reminded her of Grandpa,
she said.
We did not share her belief.
3. Bargaining
She married a Mexican;
He moved into her house,
cooked us tamales to earn our trust.
We relented,
but only for her sake.
4. Depression
It would not last;
The inheritance dwindled
She married a conman,
Dad said;
But no words got through.
5. Acceptance
She was convinced she needed him.
That we were just jealous,
So, we left her with him,
disowned her,
and never saw her again.
Let’s be super honest here. It’s obvious, I’m not a poet. This poem, a series, is part of the June poetry slam over at YeahWrite. The month is over, but still, I encourage any and all criticism. (Hint: I know it’s not good) (Discussion points: is it clear that we were racist? That we were in the wrong here? That it’s written from the perspective of an unreliable narrator?)
