sliding into home

dear
dot-dot-dotty,
dressed
in second-hand,
off-brand,
pastel pretties;
we volley natters,
pitter-patters,
defining
your idio
syn
crasies.
passing praise,
raise
questions
of your soundness,
(found us)
searching
for our
own

way

home.

Family Tree

A tree,
— whose roots reach down
deep into the first soil of time
(with millions upon millions of soft tendrils) —
reaching up
to grasp the endless sky
(with millions upon millions of twiggy fingers),
is captured here
in this breath.

A you,
a me,
and then come three.

The first  branch                        The second bough                           The third limb
(half-grafted)                                      pursues                         pushes boundaries
fights                                                     peopled                            challenges ideas
and                                                         paths                                questions theory
finally                                                      and                                                     and
finds                                                      paints                                            creates
light                                                     pictures                                        captivating
and life.                                          with numbers.                              compositions.

Seized in this second
we share one heart.
And then,
as is the way,
a you
a me
digging deep
take root
and lend our shoulders to rising stars.

***********************************************************************

NaPoWriMo — Day Two:   Write a poem that takes the form of a family portrait. You could write, for example, a stanza for each member of your family. You could also find an actual snapshot of your family and write a poem about it, spending a little bit of time on each person in the picture.

I was struck by the endless family which came before and the endless family that will come after.
Here we are as the waist of an hour glass, sandwiched between countless ancestors and progeny.
I am not completely satisfied with this “poem” and will return to this “assignment” when I have more time.