Estranged Stranger Poem by Francie Lynch

You think I'm a stranger.
That's selective.
We swapped virginities.
I painted your home,
And sat, and sipped
With your RFC Nandad;
Carried he and his Lady to the mausoleum,
Listened to her stories of Eleanor and Henry.
Bubba (a name you gave)
Sold me her car for a dollar.
I couselled your mother back into your heart,
At peril, tried to sneak your nephew back to your sister.
Your great-uncle gave us his Florida condo for a week,
I drank tea from a saucer at your Thanksgiving dinner,
After removing the gun from your father's mouth.
A 'stranger.'
Tell the girls that.
Tell the grandkids Granda is a stranger.
Truth is strange.
Fiction estranges.