There are four people in this house
The dictionary names them family-
Family. They are not
Differentiated binary roles
gender distinguishment, smiles, dresses
And puberty hairdos, perfectly assigned
Everything. Minus the daddy swinging his daughter
In the open air. Her toothless laugh fearless
Or the wild haired son clutching his mother's hem
In a crowded market square, knowing he won't get
lost. Anyway
We were all these things once. Like a young moon
Or the shining stars in a breezy night
We were all hands, touches and careful reproaches
Honey dripping along the kitchen counter edges
Or the father with his muddied slippers inside the
house. Forgetting again
Forgotten now. All the glory of our mistakes
Now we are four people in this house
And galaxies distant millions away
Or stars in a breezy night. Underneath all the
smoke. Or numerous street lights taking over the
moon.
Now we are four strangers in this house
with own youtube channels and favourite songs
Hidden preferences. Clammy presences
We love each other. We do
But-
And there's no but. I hope