A group of estranged great aunts and great uncles,

of second cousins and cousins removed 

huddle tightly in a circle.

They talk of nothing, of rights of the family and wrongs of the neighbors. 

They wait patiently for the arrival of one more, 

a mother and father with a darling niece they can’t get enough of. 

They’ll pinch her cheeks and cradle her in their arms, 

just like they used to all those years ago.

But the person who walks through the door is a stranger.

They are not cuddlable, or cherishable or malleable,

they are all sharp angles that resist hugs and scowls that resist hellos.

Combat boots creak the wooden floor as they shuffle past and 

nestle into a comfortably secluded spot,

ears plugged with something that isn’t polite conversation.

They talk to the people they know, and ignore the people they don’t

who insist they do. 

A family friend who claimed he used to change their diapers get a withering glare, and a 

hope you enjoyed it. 

A great aunt runs her hand through their newly cut hair and laments. 

It wasn’t your decision, is what she gets back. 

Childhood nicknames fade into formal full names 

As the family sits back,

perplexed. 

What happened to their niece, the one who wore bows in her hair 

and was afraid to ride a bike? 

The mature little thing that always said please and thank you?

The unbelievably clever girl with an imagination as big as the sky?

Aunts and nanas whisper this in their mother’s ear, and she laughs

What are you talking about? They’re right there.