We sit in wicker chairs situated around a square table
Plantation ferns in tall pots and stands, mark the four right angles of the screened-in room
He sits across from me and tells me about the maps he’ll one day create and about the entry-level position that is getting him there. He describes topographical analysis and data and he looks happier than he’s ever looked.
Face hedged with a coarse black beard, his expression is easy (and maybe a little furtive) with the knowledge of his sleeping boliviana upstairs.
And his sister, she’s like my sister, is their too.
She’s been biting her thumbs and picking her cuticles these days
to manage some situation in her mind. Her beautiful perfectionism flies like a ragged flag. She’s beautiful. Her eyes are round and blue and expressive and they dart around in silver flashes like minnows. Sometimes they look sad. And it could just be rugged vulnerability, and an honesty in her presences. She lives behind no walls, unlike her cousin that is me, who quips and constructs a d create invisible barriers behind my eyes.
But we sit there together anyway
And laugh in spite of our shredded thumbs and fragile senses
We are brothers and sisters in a strange and wonderful family.
We keep the torches of our fathers lit and forge alliances with sweating bottles of beer.
And I, thinking of all the things that have occurred in the 365 days to this very hour, bum an American Spirit and smoke my annual smoke with my cousins, who are my brothers and sisters in life.