they showed up for holiday dinners
year after year until they didn’t
stooped blinking creatures
dressed in threadbare finery
sometimes arriving in a taxi
or fetched from the nursing home
by my dad and older brother
it was a big production just to get them
out of the car and into the living room
they required assistance climbing stairs
taking off coats, scarves, rubber boots
they smelled of medicine and mothballs
we children were ordered to behave, be polite
no roughhousing allowed around
Cousin Lucia and Uncle Pearl
Auntie Iris and Cousin Delbert
apparently they were kin
blood relatives on my mother’s side
but it was never clear to me
what happened to their branch
something about missionaries
and a farm lost to the river
tiny Cousin Lucia ate like a horse
she spilled her sherry and spooned
leftovers into her purse for later
Uncle Pearl muttered things like
“Thirty years of marriage is fine,
but forty is a bit much.”
he specialized in sleeping upright
and knocking over lamps
Delbert smoked a hand-carved pipe
I think back fondly on these guests
because somehow I have become one
please ouch wait stop
let me catch my breath a moment
a child on either side
clutching my elbow
urging me to take the next step