Venturing onto the shore of my relative’s island.
Far, far, after a time spend travelling.
Watching the hours fly by,
Watching― as the sun sets across the sky.
Why in the world does our relative who lives in the middle of nowhere,
In the bareness of the desert
A rocketship, far from Houston.
Host our family reunions?
Moving through the threshold of my distant relatives door.
Stepping into a room as big as this library.
A room that was far from solitary.
With a great table in the middle.
A table that wasn’t really a table― It was a table made out of smaller tables.
Resembling the branches of a crossword puzzle.
Or an intense game of dominos.
Tables varying in color and height,
Some crooked and some right.
And chairs surrounding them― just as colorful as the tables.
With my father, far from the crowd, adding chairs to this mosaic masterpiece.
Here's some trivia about my family.
My family tree is so large.
A mile wide and a mile deep.
That each person had to bring their own chair to the family reunions.
A potluck of four-legged tools for laziness.
A crowdfunding for flat topped sitting machinations.
Just to sit down at a table that M. C. Escher would absolutely love.
For you need to look twice before understanding.
My mom and aunts discussing soup mixes
My father and uncles discussing politics
the state of the union
the state of the country
and how the world is changing― and they can’t keep up.
Usual, stereotypical, commonplace family reunion anguish
however― in a different language.
And soon the room that was once big as a library
Smaller and warmer.
Warm like when you spend time with your family
Or share a secret with your friends.
The room got warmer.
People were laughing,
and remembering the past
It here were I realized that our family was just like
And how, despite the occasional argument, shuffle, or fighting
despite our mismatched, diverse, and colorful defining.
Everyone is important.
Because everyone brings a chair to our crazy, mismatched table.