LUCY DOUGAN

I Went ... (that words can't)

I went to my mother at the Trade Winds Café
and she said this is my story, not yours.
There and then the winds turned south.

I went to my father that I call my father
and he said don’t make me get that DNA test…
I’ll do it!

I went to my uncle in the Mountains
who wrote a long letter to stop up the gaps.
He said you’re a fairytale,
a chance meeting on a bus without suspension,
a cabin full of roses.

I went to my dying aunt who added
I always loved you a bunch.

I went to my future husband
with beers and the long sorry story.
He said you’re all class.

I went to my sister who said
she always wanted the accordion
and the big doll they took away.

I went to my children
but always, and from the moment of their births,
they wanted me for other things
(which was a big relief).

I went to my sisters and brother in San Giorgio
and they said we have no word for half,
your face belongs here.

I went to the mirror
and the mirror said don’t look at me,
I can’t help it if your face says things
that words can’t.

I went to the ashes of my
father that I call father
and my mother’s lover
and asked them if they thought
we could all rub along together.

Finally, nobody said anything
and I was happy with that.