Cuándo Vienes a Visitar?

Part I

When are you coming home? When will I see you?

No se. 
No se mañana … no se del día después no se.

I don’t know. I don’t know about tomorrow nor overmorrow, the day after. I don’t know.

I don’t know nor understand the habitual guilt that drudges along near the beginning or middle of a visit home.

No entiendo el remordimiento que casualmente acompaña cada cena, salida, o visita.

Not anymore, I’m worn.
Tú, ven. Tú visita.
You explore, you endure.

Pulling from all of my Meredith’s I ask you pick me choose me, and love me (her and I) first.

Writing about family is never not tricky: especially in terms of displacement and feelings if estrangement.

I want to hear other, similar stories to mine. I need to laugh about this.


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