As children, Da’Nae and I dreamt that the entire family lived on the same block.
We dreamt, as children, on late nights over chip dust and Caprisuns,
that we’d attended the same schools as our cousins,
eat fried bologna on Great Value bread at the end of each month,
and go to church as a family in a stretch limo.

We created blueprints for where each member would live:

Grandma in the center to attract us with baked cheeses and fried foods.
Aunt Bersilla next to us for easy access to our favorite cousins.
Mr. Ray right next to her because he’s the best handyman we know.

We dreamt, as children, of taco nights on Fridays
that turned into full weekend sleepovers,
birthday parties at
Aunt Michelle’s that transitioned into
Qubo and Nutella crust evenings.
We dreamt, as children,
that the family would be together.
Desired to play on colored chalk concrete until the street lights flickered on,
illuminating our foreheads in a
lemon pepper hue.

As teenagers, we no longer dreamt.
We questioned:

What happened to cousin Dion that made him go away?
Why can’t we go to church on Sunday?
When’s the next time we’re going to Grandmas?

We questioned, as teenagers, why the family had become divided.
Why birthdays consisted of only
a cake and a few friends?
Why we moved to four different houses in the same neighborhood?

As teenagers, we question you, about the cable being on six months at a time,
our belongings on the curb that one day after school,
about the water being boiled before we took a bath.
We questioned, as teenagers, where you would go in the
late hours of a school night,
when Eva was a baby and
where the family was when we needed them most?

As young adults, we no longer question.
We understand.
That sometimes a birdbath is the best option and
food stamps only last for so long,
until the beginning of the next month.
We understand, as young adults,
that family sometimes can’t deal with family,
so they move away and start new families.
We understood, when you passed,
that pain and depression are emotions,
not a choice,
and coping is a soft term used to
blanket what you were actually going through.

by. Philip G. Steverson