The Blood Calls

"There was an accident,"
she tells me
checking the statement's validity
with her tone.
The subtle question goes unanswered.
It's safe so she proceeds.
"You were crying on your uncle's shoulder.
The old lady walked over to comfort you."

There's more to what she says;
more to what she doesn't.
That's how it is with one's mother.

Our matriarch's been dead and buried
for three years.
So many of these women I've loved
only live in dreams now.

There's a superstition
in her culture
our culture
what I've taken for mine:
A person is supposed to share a nightmare
to prevent it from coming to pass.

Here's to being cultural:
My brother will end up like me.

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