She Used To Come

It was like your second cousin,

the one who stopped coming

to Thanksgiving

most of the time

but shows up sometimes

and you remember a picture

of her holding baby you

with blond curls and energy always

(is it so different from

now?)

now

she doesn't hold you

she talks about science class

for four sentences over her cocktail

and my grape juice

and we pretend she shows up every year.

That was the rain.

I'll lay on bedroom floor

and listen to it dance

on the ceiling

and we talk

back and forth a bit

no one mentions

how she didn't show up

all summer.

When I see her

I remember when I was little

and she was there

and our hearts

were dancing together.

Now she'll come some days

and we'll pretend it's fine.