Say to me, "Family" and I think:
Noise. Arguing at the dinner table on Sunday after church. Pass the milk.
Rumpled Sunday comics because someone got there before you. Pushing each other past the breaking point, by anyone else's standards, and then:
Coming right back to Pass the milk.
Holidays and gift wrap and painted wooden ornaments
and birthday cake in a bowl drenched in,
you guessed it: Milk.
Static crackle baseball games on the screened in porch,
wondering just what is the appeal of that foamy drink that
sticks to their mustache
and smells so awful
except when it's mixed with shrimp and Old Bay.
Go cart races and swinging in the apple tree
Touching the tender, dreams are real, sunshine-studded childhood
so alive in my heart, unbreakable
Pass the milk.
Too many cooks in the kitchen,
chiefs in the wigwam,
bosses with big opinions who might try to micromanage but only
for your own good
Bloodlines that go deep with genetic tendencies like
ignitable passion
and touchy blood sugar if dinner is late
and I will be there for you always even if it's just to
pass the milk.
Family.
What a legacy these
mistakes and apologies
jokes and sad sentences
hugs and shoves
encouragement and bitter honesty
memory and reality
Bending annoyance into love
making the only thing that really lasts
a sure promise of you cannot you will not ever disappoint me
And always, always I will cherish you
even when you have to leave
and I'll be here ready when you need me to
pass the milk