Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Death By Family

Going to see our families
is like picking out methods to die.
Death by suffocation.
Death by poisonous words.
Death by lethal injection of guilt.
It is always the same.
The deafening silence at his house.
The endless screaming at mine.
The innuendos
vs. the direct assaults.
Dodging silent bullets is much harder for me than it is for him
because I am used to live ammunition.
The sound of grenades going off every few seconds
is well,
almost comforting.
I know how to respond to such warfare.
I know how to duck, roll and take cover.
I can see it coming.
His family’s tactics are much more subversive.
The glance,
the weary “alright”
which never is
echoed from maternal lips.
The unknowing stares.
The backroom questions.
Everything under the table,
always under the table.
For me,
the dagger on the table,
picked up and thrown
across the room
is best.
Once it has sailed by,
all is well.
There is no more simmering.
Just the explosion
and the release,
then the egg nog and cookies.
His familiy’s war,
on the other hand,
never ends.
It just festers
year after year
shapeshifting into migraines
and silent resentment.