i used to cry at shattered glasses,
since i knew what would happen after.
watching the delicate glass hold that red, dying liquid.

my mother’s rosy cheeks after she drank it,
my mother’s smile after she drank it.

opposite of blood,
it consumes you.

my father, now, was different.
he held cans.
6, 7 even.
i couldnt see him without one.

how his hugs were tight for a reason.
how his smile was shallow.

on holidays, i visit my family.
auntie, who smelt like poison.
poison she drank everyday.

she said she missed me,
she said she loved me.
all in tears, and smiles.

shallow ones.

rosy cheeks, blank gaze.

i do remember how you cried for my mother.
cried when it was too much.
is it never, aunt?

me and granny watching you, me asking why.
‘oh, curious one.’
was i never?

the fireworks went off,
like every, every year.
i hear her cries.

Happy New Year.