Share Your Writing Here
*A piece I wrote a while back, but didn't want to share publicly, but have still been itching to share! Thank you for giving me a safe space to do so :)
As soon as I accept my aunt’s offer
for seasonal work at their farm market,
I imagine us finally bonding, worrying
I’ll get too attached to move away that winter.
Growing up within an hour,
I always thought my family was close—never missing
a chance to set the long table of mismatched chairs
at grandma’s: Christmas, Easter, each birthday, the 4th of July.
Ham, green beans, oyster filling, sweet potato casserole,
but no real interest in each other. Judgment thriving
in memory of stolen ideas, family fights, and the knowledge
of which son makes more money.
In pursuit of genuine closeness,
and a fall job with no interview, I make the hour-long drive
three days a week to teach field trip preschoolers about farm animals.
With no instruction, I wonder, Is their business dysfunctional,
or am I treated differently—a known member of the family
that doesn’t talk?
In late October, field trips end. My job transitions
to the market bakery—I box meals, watching faces
and conversations change in an instant
depending on who walks through the door.
I ice pumpkin whoopie pies while my grandma turns away from me
to gossip, like she truly believes
her back will muffle the poison she sends my aunt.
I mix muffins while my grandpa mocks an overweight stranger.
My grandparents finally hug me every time
they see me; proud of me for supporting the family business.
On my last day—the farm market staff Christmas party, I hear
my aunt tell Mackenzie, You’re welcome at our house anytime!
My heart seals; tears jump from my eyes:
Four months across the street, I waited
for an invitation that never came.
When family turns into business,
business turns into family
—a co-worker replaces me as niece. When I move away
that February, I’m glad to go.