Family Reunion, 2020

My grandparents visited once.

There was no vaccine.

School had just started,

so Mom told me not to hug them.

Grandma walked up to me

anyway. Her lips twisted

when I pulled back.

I used to run up to hug them

before the virus came along.

It would just be me

and my cousins in their old house,

for a week if we were lucky.

We set up small tents in the basement.

There was hot chocolate and sugar cereal and a small bowl of fruit

that everyone avoided. Grandma

would set up an inflatable pool in the backyard, and

by next morning there would be dead bees in it.

My younger cousins still screamed

in excitement and splashed in the water flecked

with dirt. I wrinkled my nose

and read my book instead.

Grandma drinks Dr. Pepper

instead of water. Says it’s Diet,

so it’s fine.

Mom rolls her eyes.

There aren’t any tents in the basement anymore.

Grandma and Poppop sold their house,

so now home sweet home is an RV. I haven’t

seen it. I don’t understand

how they’re traveling in a pandemic. But they still

send me postcards sometimes.

I line them up to follow the path.

The Grand Canyon, Houston Colorado. I can see them

at a store, masks rolled underneath their chin.

The cloth clean and little used,

while they browse for Cinnamon Toast Crunch and soda.

People are dying from COVID.

They could die from COVID.

I sweep the postcards into the trash.

I’m going to see them

this summer in their new RV.

There’s a vaccine now,

but I don’t think Grandma and Poppop are going to get it.

I’ll have my vaccination card

hidden safe in my bag.

My cousins will be bouncing

on the cramped floors. Grandma will want a hug

and I won’t be able to pull back.

She’ll bring out the tents or hot chocolate;

Maybe even a pool,

smile so warm and wrinkly.

Yet I still don’t want to be here,

and I still don’t want to hug them anymore.