Grandma's dinner at the house on 194th
heat whatever's in the pantry or freezer
days bring one of my deadbeat cousins coming 'round
with bags from the Family Dollar
Grandma orders Italian delivery
talks to Marco for like ten every other day
same lasagna, same foil tray, same white Taurus
idling in the drive
she falls asleep with the TV on
voices low; the dogs yap and ambulate
tiny pool outside every window
Grandma's dinner and the Furr's and the parking lot
pulverized, chalk-like, air gauzy, white-hot
redevastation on the surface of an asphalt moon
we debark in slo-mo
Grandma's bible, with the family tree
generations of strange, familiar blood line the buffet
we visit maybe every three or four years, i don't know
and it hovers in the room
Grandma's dinner is three shades of white
is this my life?
every small defeat, every incremental further retreat
each night alone?
have i come home?