Lillian R. -Polaroid Epitaphs

Lillian R.
I cut him out of the picture…
or maybe, he cut my heart out first?
then,
my brother cut me out…
my family cut me out…
or maybe,
it was I who cut them all out?
maybe is the bitch
of history and
my children were
little paper dolls
of stubborn-anger…
after a while,
the sequence mattered little
and the fact was that
I was alone
with my frozen meats,
tiny samples,
coupons,
letters of spite,
and an empty home
with a
refrigerator full of
so much garbage.

It doesn’t matter if it
were a stroke,
or heart attack,
or both,
because no one
was there
to ask.

cicero was not
silent when I
died.