intervention

My dad is dealing with depression
skates over it every Sunday in isolation
talks about it in the same way that he taught us
meaning
if you follow the cords to our mics you’ll find their covered in piles of dust

rarely been used
only know silence
so he shoves it all down the stair case
hides resentment in the basement
but damn
if you could enter that house
you’ll smell how some shit can’t be buried.

Our best bet
is to dig it up
throw it on walls and see
what parts of us stick
see if we still can hear the voices of our childhood
taste the hope of immigration on our tongues and know,
it’s still there
even if it looks different
even if native tongue is my best kept secret
afraid to stumble upon bloodline so I keep it quiet.

When I say
my dad is dealing with depression, what I mean
is my family is dealing with depression
but we only know how to keep silent
let the Russian roots rot
but still smell them through the air vent
while grandma
spins circles in her grave
smile plastered on her face
but if they could see her cry the way that I did.

If I’ve learned anything
it’s that the sadness over my family will never be enough to bring us together
it’s that my dad
is the biggest intervention we will never have
it’s that sometimes
you gotta create distance to heal,

even if it hurts them
even if you desert them
you choose self
over everything
even if that means sleeping through the holidays so your cells
aren’t rattled by the violence
means picking friends over blood
over and over again
until you realize
they are one in the same
and you’ve stopped choosing.

And when you gather around the table
to say for what you’re grateful
you say,
you, and you, and you, and you.

but fight back tears,
can’t stop wondering what the parallel life would look like
if interventions were had
if we all had our dad
if the little one could laugh
and fill all of our souls with joy.

But we sit divided
and he sleeps divided
always hiding
always hiding.

But I see all of them,
through liquor and smoke
I feel all of them
taste trauma in all of our jokes.

When I say
my family is dealing with depression
I mean
my family has been sucked into separation
and I
have given up
on being the glue.

and so the holidays pass
in the silence we’ve been taught
they gather around other tables
he sits in the basement
and Russian roots rot

and I sit here
trying so hard to laugh
with all of my friends
fighting off familiar depression
waiting
for the holidays to end

always
just waiting
for the holidays to end.