My Mirrors

It has been an inspiring week for me as a writer--I graduated high school a week from tomorrow, and the literary anthology who published my short story "Lost and Found, British Museum" arrived yesterday. I wrote this poem to acknowledge the people in my life who have helped me most to grow--my family. Thank you to Devin, Molly, and Joseph for being my friends and partners, and of course lots of love my two incredible parents. 

Enjoy :) 

People say,

You can’t pick family.

As if they arrive as a boxed set on the front stoop,

Vaccum-sealed and plastic wrapped.

. If that was the case, I would have one brother only, just the pair of us.

I haven’t.

 I am rich in loved ones.

I have two brothers, and a sister.

They drifted into my life from other homes, broken places.

It wasn’t always easy ,

Trying to find my  niche between their loud voices, their easy confidence.

Middle children, psychologists say, spend their lives searching

I was no exception,

Did my fair share of pushing, shoving, begging, fighting for a place.

Feeling as though I wasn’t one of them.

My big brown eyes looking, always looking,to where I could fit.

But I realized, eventually, that there had been a place all along, a chair waiting for me at the dinner table, a space cleared on the couch, a stocking hung by the tree.

Four of us,

Four, I always thought that was the perfect number, so even, so fair.

We are woven together like a friendship bracelet, the handiwork of a summer day, tied for life.

I think of them laughing,

Of her tickling his chubby baby feet or braiding my hair,

of those boys shooting at me with a water gun, mock tears.

They are the mirrors I hold myself up to,

Because who am I if not a reflection of them?

The older two my protectors, the younger my playmate.

I think of my big brother, serious at eight years old,

telling the lunch lady to send me inside, I had a cough, couldn’t she see?

I think of my sister wrapping a brownie in a crisp white napkin, helping me hide it, giggling at our contraband.

I think of my baby brother tossing a basketball, grinning at his perfect slam dunk.

I think of them all.

And sometimes I felt as though our colorful family photos must be a mistake,

As though we were breaking the rules,

And I longed for the simplicity of my friends’ families,

matching t-shirts, lookalikes, no need for explanation.

But then.

Then I think of them laughing.

And I realize

They were chosen, they were given, and every day they are a reminder

Of how blessed it is

To belong to a tribe.