Family Gathering

I wish I could tell you
I’ve always been awkward

that it’s not you,
it’s me

that that’s why I study fiction;
I’ve always been better with stories
than people…

the grey spring sky glowers overhead
as cousins and nieces and pets I haven’t seen
since dad’s funeral crowd in

earlier you told me the news
that Nan was going into a home
because you couldn’t care for her anymore
and I hugged you when you started to cry

I’ve grown less weird in that small way at least

raindrops feed your border plants
and we go in again to talk to your mother,
my grandmother, to let her ask
the same questions sometimes repeatedly

I snort and sniff and stare
at corners of the room,
a comedian dying on stage

but I wish I could say that someone else
would handle this more gracefully
and even so,
I’m better at this now than I ever was