Relations — Poem

Family scattered

throughout the house

Sugar sits in different shapes

on every table

Video games and movies come

and go through the little family room

The kitchen is filled

with promises of baking; “tomorrow!”s

stacked on every shelf

My dad’s booming voice rings

inside my head as I come down

to breakfast, if I’ve woken up early enough,

and grandma still can’t hear him.

I chase her,

and my mother, away

from sweets meant for under the Christmas tree

And St. Mother feeds us all, despite

being the one

who likes cooking the least.

“We’ll cook!” we say, but

it’s just time to play:

“How much should we get wrong before we ask her for help?”

and she cooks anyway.

There are fights, that is certain,

between whom is the variable. If

your money’s on mom and dad,

it’s not much of a gamble.

But there are fewer, I think,

and since I’m the sole one still growing,

I can’t help but wonder

if I’ve learned something

worth knowing.

 


 

Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash

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