“Remember the house on Institute Place?”
My brother says.
They remember, but I do not.
There's a wall between us that took
Ten years to build.
I try to knock it down but my feminine body is not strong enough.

“Remember how Great Grandmom Ruby had you search for her rings when you were young?”
My father says.
They remember, but I do not.
Ruby was delusional by that point.
Funny, we actually have something in common –
Not remembering
Though she'll never know it

“Your grandmother loved her grandchildren very much”
My mother says.
They remember, but I do not.
I wouldn't know her love.
For when I existed, her hands were bent,
her body worn, and she could not possibly function normally.

“You would have loved the house on Institute Place.”
“You would have loved Great Grandmom Ruby – you're feisty like her.”
“You would have loved our grandmother when she wasn't sick.”
No.
I wouldn't have.
Not the same love you have.
I wasn't given the chance.
I don't remember
So the ten-year wall remains.