Before Me

Before me, there was Plano.

An expanse of Texan flatness. Spindly, adolescent trees, hashmarks on a new suburb.

A house and a lawn, a country club with a pool.

Before me, there was Pete - my grandfather, my brother’s namesake.

A man of large stature, with a broad chin and broader shoulders

A man who fought the war and swung my grandmother around a dance floor

Before me, there were camping trips

My parents curled up in sleeping bags, dirty and in love

The river rushing beside them, lulling them to sleep

Before me, there were boys, so many boys

Wild twins wreaking havoc down the hallway

Brothers stealing wallets and breaking furniture, tumbling and fighting

Before me, there was the house on Christopher Drive

The brick foundation splattered with blood after our cousin tripped and fell

The strange neighbor with the comics in his basement

Before me, my aunt was married

To a man I’ve never met

My mother calls him “Ivan the Terrible”

Before me, there were miscarriages and stillborn babies

Siblings and children that our family will never know

The ghosts that leave me questioning my purpose