Of the few remaining cousins, now
as old as I, a number we do not mention
or want to believe that he was her only
lover, as though she was the young girl
who left Charleston for Washington, D.C.
They cite, as justifying empirical evidence,
that she never married, always
the beloved aunt, nothing more allowed.
My later discovered existence
laid waste to their assumption that she
might have been a vestal virgin
dragged forward in time, a saint
if only Judaism allowed for such.
But I do exist and am genetically
undeniable, and given the only other
possible explanation, they forgive her
the one weekend of what they also
assume was a consuming passion.