Answer:Music and food,
that’s my familia,
memorabilia
of spirit-brood,
silly or lewd,
laughing out loud,
stray island crowd
making up topics,
memory’s tropics
under a cloud.
Dad wasn’t square with us, hid who he was.
Adman, Mad Man, cad, dear old dad
Told us he was French and Italian.
Where, I wondered, was la famiglia?
In Lingayen Pangasinan,
Far away and long ago.
Visiting your parents without
you feels like treason.
Hung frames are well composed
without me, with people well before me.
I had no good reason
to infiltrate the frame
with suspect execution.
Mama laughs and pretends
that puffs of flour are dragon breaths.
There are more earthworms than I dreamed possible.
My arms wrap all the way around
part of her.
Family may come to us from other bloodlines—
when the ones with which we shared a womb are unable to love us back.
We realize then-
it is more than blood that binds us.
We are spiritual kin.
Her name, written in ashes floating over Bergen Belsen,
Is mine now.
I imagine she’s smiling,
Remembered in America.
La familia, fuente de perseverancia y pilar de todo aquel que ha caído.
En ella encuentras la paz y el refugio cuando te encuentras perdido.
La familia, fuente de fortaleza
Para todo aquel reprimido
We are the palliative care. The family.
Cancer eats our kind but we circle, strong,
tighten the pack, carry the weak
to the next world, let go
only to find them again later
calling us home.
Seeing Father, a steely, serious man, care for his dying mother with exquisite tenderness, transformed in an instant a long, hard-held perception of his coldness into hot, exploding truth.
It’s not the name
nor is it the blood
It’s the connection built up
through mind body and soul
your brothers are more than siblings
and the only word to describe that connection
is brotherhood
Two loving mothers
Female sibling, dogs, and cat
And me, the one male
The Wilsons live life loud.
if we make a sound
we stand proud
and say it loud
quite is not fun
When we run everyone can hear us
we are louder than a bus
Explanation:
