twenty-one april
five : twenty-eight p.m.

the old, yellowed, 1940s family photos. of relatives i've never met. of everyone looking so young.

his aged hands pointed to each frozen face. he quietly identified everyone for me, slipping from english to italian. they talked over him, laughing while i tried not to cry.

"carla, my brother raymond..morte, dino, my wife virginia..morte.."

he's lost everyone. i couldn't stop thinking about how, when they sold his house and took his posessions, most of the portraits had crosses drawn in their corners. and about what my father had said earlier :

"dad'll be ninety this year. if he makes it."