From the moment I walk through the door I am engulfed
by the endless fabric of her sweater, fighting for a breath of air.
my aunt’s red lipstick stains my flushed cheeks
and the smell of butterscotch lingers
even after she’s done asking me:
Why would you pair stripes with polka dots?

Only the sound of my father’s voice calling me to the kitchen
can save me from the agonizing greetings of each and every
aunt, uncle and cousin followed by patronizing questions
about my plans for college and beyond. 
My eyes are glazed over until I hear my name,
and I finally have an excuse to leave.

As I flee the living room, terrified I might be greeted by
yet another eager family member who hasn’t seen me in months,
I begin to consider more positive things to help me persevere.

My view of the red brick walls that contain the memories
of laughter in the lunchroom and crying in the classroom
is blocked by the appendages of my five closest girlfriends
as we join in a group hug before we part for the summer.
I don’t even attempt to breathe because I know that I won’t be able to;
Why waste these moments thinking about something as trivial as oxygen?

Now I stand on the heated floors of this renovated kitchen
that my uncle hasn’t gone a sentence without mentioning,
and I glance at my father next to me whose face is visibly
containing laughter as his brother describes the way
the fridge can hold way more than a normal fridge again,
and my dad puts both arms around me knowingly
as if to say me too, and this time
I can breathe.