Lydia Yawn
My Grandmother, My First Funeral
I know what it does to the body, but I wanted it,
her cancer—forgo the mammograms, the treatment,
the chemo, the fake breasts (can't replace a liver
as easy as a chest). I know what it got her, carrot juice
she made herself (as if it would cure everything), a hospital
bed in the dining room, no more trips to Cracker Barrel.
Know what it got the kids in the commercials—attention from their parents,
how she got my mom's attention those last few months. I asked God
to give me her cancer so my mother would love me, so I could be visible
even though I'd be fading away—the only way to make her look at me,
take away her control and give it to something else, a threat of her power,
destroy myself to get her to love me at least a little. Imagine her at my funeral,
consider if my death would knock the rest of the love out of her completely,
or if there would still be enough to give to my sisters without me in the way
Bio
Lydia Yawn is a queer, neurodivergent poet whose work focuses on exploring their identity and the concepts of home, family, and religion in the South. They graduated with a BA in English from Valdosta State University in South Georgia and is currently a third-year MFA student at Emerson College in Boston. Their work has been featured most recently in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature and Jelly Bucket. They are also the 2022 recipient of the Academy of American Poets prize.