the late inheritance

I’m almost thirty & I’m still standing
in the kitchen watching Mom cut
apples & lemons her thumb
kissing the teeth of the blade
never slipping & I’m thinking
I’ll never be that brave & wondering
why she takes so many little risks
pairing antidepressants & wine daily
climbing ladders when she’s home alone
probably for the same reason
Dad’s shirts proclaim sawdust man glitter
as he buffs his tears in the movie-theater-dark
& howls them them them when he thinks I’m out
of earshot & this evening just like every other
I know he’ll be sequestered in the office
spending retirement worshipping Freddie Mercury
for living so brightly & dying quickly
but Dad don’t you see your favorite
president weaponized hate that
killed that queen’s voice prematurely but Dad
only stomachs morals wrapped in tragedy
too late to save anything worth keeping I remember
Dad held my hand at the dinner table
when I came out last April & Mom
who had hugged me every day of my life
wouldn’t touch me I can’t remember
the point I’m trying to make basically
I fucking hate how I’m still surprised to
find blood under my fingernails yet
I keep stuffing corpse mouths with lavender
trying to sweeten the reek my ancestors left
behind there I go drawing ties in the water &
following the ripples backward
to the source just to end
up down at the bottom again