i.
my grandmother’s second husband loved her.
he wasn’t the serial marrying kind like my grandfather
he stayed as long as he could
until the rum she had transported in her veins from the island
liquefied between them,
the dreary drip of cold grey English skies
lost in bottles
she cradled to forget
ii
my father tells the story of arriving on a train platform
banana boat sickness still in his gut
the last vestiges of St. Lucian soil clinging to his shoes
watching her trying to find the baby she abandoned to her mother’s hands
his sixteen year old eyes suddenly more mature in the knowing
of who she was
what she had become
iii
she had a love affair with a bottle
and didn’t know how to beat the obsession
even dressed tight in her nurse’s uniform
she did not see the irony
of administering hope
when she could not comprehend what hope was
iv
love is sometimes the story of leaving
v
and so she left
hooked up to machines
far too early
and too much in love