familia;

They bring with them,
their smell
their soap residing in the bathtub
their words--filling the air
the kitchen stays warm
surrounded in their presence
food is stored

and this place isn't empty anymore
there's someone in every room
two boys laughing upstairs
they've been inseparable since he got here
and my brother smiles the most
that I've seen him smile in a long time

I snap pictures left and right
hoping to attain a memory
that, when my grandmother is gone,
I can remember and say to myself,
this isn't over

My aunt gives me advice on my hair
There's hope for me yet
and maybe it'll finally be the way I wish it to be
maybe I can love myself more

there are two extra beds
and people to fill them
there is giggling roaming the stairs
and busy hands
they bring with them--a rememberance
of my childhood

they remind  me of the time
that I've found to be irrelevant
they remind me of my age
that it's unimportant where you've been
as long as you're in the moment

--

my grandmother bruises her arm
with yet another needle
her diabetic habits are apart of her now
the needle gets restored
and the insulin creates a glamorous paradox
that helps her survive

my grandfather roams the house
like a phantom,
in search of work to fulfill,
in search of the peace he can't find
he's roaming his mind
and age has made him grumpy
so he snips at my grandmother here and there

my aunt remains happy--consistent
while she asks with helpful eyes
if anyone needs something
if we want anything at all
her happyness is contagious
and I only wish I could form a closer
bond

but I can't do that without revealing
all of who I am
so I keep a close distance and hover
around her contentment
wondering who she is and how she can
retain her sanity with the cruelty of the world
she gives me hope--faith in beauty
she's seen it all
and still she's beautiful

my cousin has grown
become a young man
and I keep searching for the little boy
he used to be
but his voice is deeper and
he's gotten taller

where has the time gone?

Am I ancient?

I feel like I've slept a thousand years

and as my grandmother tells me
that my uncle is asking for me
I almost want to forgive him
he has deprived me of what I always wanted
he gave up on me and he was one of the first people
so I turn my attention to my food and
try to focus on the conversation

I've been angry at him
way too focused on all the wrongs he did
all the things he's become that I hate

I can't understand this feeling

maybe if things work out
because it's never too late
but part of me believes so
and I'm not hopeful anymore

I look at the life
They call this Familia
the blood that's thicker than water
and I see this now
how you grow to an age where
family becomes important to you

--

I see the estrangement between
my grandfather and father
It feels as if they haven't talked
in years
They never can commute with conversation
but they share in beers and talk about--
fixing up the house--work to be done
and they can relate

at least for a little while

my grandfather is silent
muttering in spanish
my father is focused
searching the grass for weeds
he's a workaholic
and my mom tries to keep the family alive

"she's the only mom I have left"
she says about my father's mom
and I wonder if one day I'll feel that way


I nod and understand

this is important to me
I'm quiet and observant

equipped with a camera

and I don't understand why.