Adopted

We counted cockroaches crawling over the cabinets
where I hung the drawing I did of Jesus wearing a red t-shirt
on that bright blue paper that we found a box of
in her basement when she died.
And you'd wake me up every morning at 8:30
when Aunt Carla dropped you off and
we'd watch Woody Woodpecker and try to perfect his laugh
while drawing boats.
We were obsessed with boats.
And we'd paint fence posts on paper plates and hang them
over the washer and dryer
where all the lizards would congregate
to hear our secrets.
And we could see the sea of kudzu
threatening to take over the garage and hold it hostage
the way it did the barn
so many years ago.
Years we couldn't remember, but
we'd heard so many stories
that we adopted them as our own.