Just because they have disappeared does not mean that i'm clutter-free.
It's a cluster-free, a clusterfuck of ******* insanity.
My uncle left right after my Grampa's funeral, split like a chicken's *****, "he's in the airforce or some other human-processing factory," Ma would say to me.
My aunt mable, dipped out dripped out two kids then split like a pillsbury biscuit.
My aunt pat's mom, left Aunt pat on Aunt FLo's doorstep, in the sole of her instep, stepped out on a kid and a husband with a left shoe, the right one was left behind.
My pops was forced out, I saw him drag Ma through the halls, saw him whip her face in with the brass-end of a leather belt, everybody's face was leathery when the cops came in.
There is a litany of disappearing faces in my family picture, a litany of the disappeared who reappear over thanksgiving and christmas dinners, when we wax nostalgiac or hurt over turkey, gravy, and biscuits.