In Thessalonika, an old man cursed
Angelina’s grandfather before he sailed
to America. Now, in Brooklyn, her blithering
brother and her paranoid sister cackle
as they spit at each other and scratch
initials into their skin. Her mother, as mad
as her offspring, corrodes from breast cancer.
At 40 Angelina fingers malignant tumors,
opts for a double mastectomy, not chemo,
so she can bear another child; her son
won’t be as bereft as she. Still barren
as a nun, she prays poisoned genes
and an old man’s curse have exhausted
themselves. She ignores the twisted horns
rearing in the bracken behind her house.