Cantrell

Cantrell was named after the street she was born

On, in a big white house where the neighborhood

Would come to see the Christmas lights and take

Giant candy canes her mother always ordered

in bulk.

They were the “rich family,” the ones

Who were blessed with wealth even though

Cantrell could never fully verbalize the curse

In that particular blessing.

Everyone around her lived it up, especially Lizzie,

Her younger sister prancing around in her tennis whites,

When she didn’t even play tennis,

The grass court at the back of the house

Having started to sprout weeds.

What they don’t tell you is that money

Doesn’t satisfy death,

That it still comes for you

As you’re sitting there in your room

Minding your own business

With Little Women splayed on your lap

And your grandmother darkens

Your doorway with the news

That your family has died

In a car wreck and all

Your heart can muster up

Is the thought of candy canes

And weeds.