Of Life

My father is of the earth

My mother of the stars

My father’s eyes reflect the sunlight 

passing by trees, waterfalls, even shadow

My mother’s skin is spattered with the kisses of the universe, 

soft and deep

My sister is of the water

Her eyes dark as night’s shield over the ocean

Blue, black

Her hair in gentle turns of rivers

Her temper in breezy seafoam 

And the sharp northern lakes 

My brothers are of the trees

One tall and proud as green canopies

The other wise and silent as growth

Both with etchings of bark 

in their skin, their faces, their souls

Marks of fire and inosculation

The youngest two are of the sky

One airy as cirrus, crisp and bright

The other smooth and bold as summer storms

Both still small, they sit above and observe 

One young yet to truly affect the world  

The other adding to it, slowly but surely

I am of my parents, the same as my siblings.

But I am not of earth or stars

Not of pond or woodland or the blue

I am of something else

I am something

Am I not?

I do not exude the grace they do

I am not wise, nor strong, nor light

I am somehow not the part that fits 

as serenely as all the rest

I will never give the way that they do 

so effortlessly, so perfectly, so prettily

I am of man

I am simpler, somehow, where they are complex

I am the viewer, the audience to my family’s intricacies

I am the poet, divining new ways for others to see how I do

I am the artist capturing my family’s anger, their grandeur, their honor 

I am the hope that they see my efforts to glorify them whenever I can

My family is of fact.

I am of the inspired.

My family is of existence.

I am of living.