what makes a family

Late June

Layers like vines
like family
like shifts and currents
line our lives.
We find ourselves on a plane
moving over landscapes in search
of past relics, sisters and friends,
dry, hot hills, the colors of Berkeley,
Mazzy's a warm monkey on my back and
I wear her with pride, traverse old haunts,
remember lost loves.
Djembes echo from the train station,
raw hands intersect histories,
history is new here and the train fills
with glitter and fairy wings,
piercings and pride.
We move like a wave towards the park,
spill into one another with solidarity,
sisterhood,
brotherhood,
sisters and sisters,
brothers and brothers.
Melissa moves with grace in the heat,
her pregnant belly a swollen smile.
They think the baby is mine.
We fit in all the more.

Back at home, cousins arrive,
and we watch the relations unfold.
The drama that is two three year olds
finding their way, sharing space,
Solomon equal parts
joy and frustration,
his moments passionate and resolute.
The way Eliana plays a new role,
almost six,
lost her first tooth while I was away,
milestones abound,
her leadership kind and steady until
she too feels frustrated and needs
her space.  The heat doesn't help and
we seek refuge along creek pools,
water fountains, cool basements. 
We are all trying to find our way.
Navigating as parents and children,
as uncles and aunts,
as grandmothers and grandfathers,
friends.  This now is new to all of us. 
This now has a pulse of her own,
like the palpable energy of hope and
celebration that resonated through the
voice of the Castro, smiles spilled from
shops and bars, hands clasped,
history unfolding before our eyes.