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

Rifts

As evident from my previous post, I am trying this new thing of actually using my blog like a blog.  E.g., posting things that are just life updates or inconclusive thoughts, and hoping that somehow they might actually serve some kind of purpose.

This one’s about rifts politely ripping open between family members.

 


 

You have given me respect, and I thank you for that.  Admire you for that.  Love you for that.

But you have given me grudging respect.  Last resort well wishes.  Suspicion that you make no effort to hide from your face; perhaps paint on for added effect.

You say you will not fight my going, but openly wish that a natural disaster will stop me.

I can’t decide whether I should be grateful to you, angry with you, or disappointed in you.  I am all three, but they live together like unhappy dinner guests, glaring at each other from across the table, each one trying to make the other two leave so they can have the table to themself.

I am trying to reconcile how you can look so sickened, speak so horribly, and say it’s all because you care.  But I know it’s true.

I am trying to understand that things are not always black, or white, or grey, but sometimes a combination of all three.

I have your respect, but not your blessing.  Not your trust.

And you underestimate how much I wish I did.

 


 

Photo by freestocks.org on Unsplash