I look down at my own
softened and
slim-fingered hands
and see my father’s,
sweetly caramel,
sallowed by dirt
and smelling of copper.

I look into my own
red brown eyes
wide and staring
and see my mother’s,
deeply set behind glass
and crinkling with laughter.

I listen to my own
smoke-laden voice
japing and cursing
and hear my brother’s,
curling around each
sarcastic riposte
and cackle.

I examine my own
proudly defined
and delicate collarbones
and see my sister’s,
marked by graceful shoulders,
and a long neck
all straight as knives.

what a wonder,
is our blood,
all so full
of each other.


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