Poems
Family History (According to Carol)
Carol is my sister.
She is 13 years older than me.
She is suffering from ALS and Dementia.
A few years ago I did the ALS Challenge
and posted it on Facebook.
I got 167 likes.
Now it’s real.
“Carol is the smart one,” I joke to the new social worker.
“I was a teacher…”
“She is well respected in her field,” I elaborate.
“The nazis killed our whole family.”
“Not really, otherwise we wouldn’t be here,” I correct.
“They killed our brother.”
“That’s true,” I affirm.
“I’m sorry,” says the social worker.
“When I was little, Susan threw my toys out the window
of our 4thfloor apartment in the Bronx.”
“I’m sorry,” says the social worker.
“She tried to throw Danny out the window,
but I saved him and put him on the couch.”
“That’s why I’m here now,” I tell the social worker.
“Susan is crazy, is that what’s happening to me?”
“Our sister is autistic and schizophrenic and retarded,” I chime in.
“You’re not supposed to say retarded anymore,” Carol corrects.
“I know, but she is.”
“No offense taken,” says the social worker.
“My husband Rich was abused when he was little.”
“That’s what he says,” I add.
"Danny thinks we should be divorced, but he’s a good man.”
“No he’s not,” I correct.
“Our mother was crazy, I think it runs in the family.”
“No Carol, Mom was just fragile.”
“Donald Trump is a nazi.”
“I won’t argue the point,” the social worker and I reply simultaneously.
Carol is doing what Mom used to do,
which always embarrassed me,
she’s telling her sad story to a stranger.
Now I’m doing it.
“You’re lucky, you have a brother who looks out for you,”
says the social worker.
“The nazis killed our brother.
I want a cigarette, can you light it for me?”
“Of course.”
“Dad always said, turn out the lights.”
I want to run out of the apartment and scream
and rage between the cars in the parking lot.
I want to tear my flesh and throw rocks
through windows to hear the sound of breaking glass.
I sit at the table and refocus the conversation,
“We need help…”