Sullen Poverty Family Tree Hospice Hunger

A white circle at the base of the alter is a testament. And I wonder what it is to build mutual respect.
It is a pet peeve to choose a nickname for oneself, and probably common to attempt to reject a bad nickname.
I think now of my great grandmother who wouldn't bathe in front of the television because she thought they could see her. She also became insulted if anyone sent her a card with an animal on it because it meant you thought she had a likeness to it.
I wear her necklace.
Her daughter-in-law was a nurse with a chip on her shoulder and a womanizing husband, who perhaps only womanized her. I can testify to this, even after her death, he wished his ashes to be poured over her grave so that he might have one last chance to be 'on top of her.'
Such a thing for me to do in a graveyard, carrying out the last wishes the whole family knew.
Maybe it was just us, the three of us: My brother and father.

And my father would be buried in that same spot in one year, one month, and a few days.

The same spot.

It is a reality which proves superstition, and proves the family bond.

The nurse, the grandmother, I look just like her. I am probably tough just like her. I never met her, but I learned about her because our lives have parallels. A Pisces to mold your ideas about love. Loss which carries weight, dragging it like a canvas bag full with something only the barer can know like plasma-soaked rags from a hospital.

( A hospital for the sick of spirit; a suicide hospice. )

It is the type of weight which makes me protest by hunger strike.
The weight which holds down the physical body, so heavy it forms lines on my brooding face.