cousins
that time you
covered me with your body as i stood in the hot but dimming sunlight, shielding me from the cab driver you said was watching me too intently. your clothed body stepped in front of my bare legs, and the man was embarrassed he was so less than subtle.
you can always tell, when they look away.
the time we tried to make pancakes. despite all of your criticisms, despite the lack of eggs, or a pan that could possibly work, we step outside with that eggless batter and attempt it anyway on the rusty stove. we step cautiously, always-aware of the cockroaches and kitties creeping around that front porch of yours. We fail, over and over, making a mess at 3 am. we leave the pans and spatulas for the morning.
or that night the power went out, and you all put on your phone flashlights and starting checking your battery life. it was dark, so dark it made me wonder what it’s like for people who don’t have power. I waited for my eyes to adjust. we trade stories because it’s hard to play cards without a good field of vision. the power comes back on when your mother begins a story about mine.