Food

Dozens of children called up to show

Their answer to the question:

“What does your family look like?”

With mums and dads and siblings galore

Some from far flung across the globe

Others conceived in the same womb side by side

Smiley faces

With arms open wide

Stood by trees

And houses

Dogs in tow

Grandmas in the back

All saying the same thing:

“This is my family, whom I love.”

Amidst arguments and tantrums,

play fights and the real,

forced meals at the table,

laundry lining the hallways,

dishwasher on repeat,

and angry music vibrating floorboards,

There can still be love.

The time I wrestled him up,

‘Sharpshooter’ strain to pee.

Three months grounding,

for late night sojourn.

Sangria driven buggy,

meanders through Tenerife streets.

Accidental stumble,

onto nudist beach.

Late night jokes,

watching Madea.

Despite mother’s hand shielding from camera,

moments between us still beautifully captured:

“This is my family, whom I love”

Politicians argue

over civilisation’s demise

Homeless & runaways

Prisons overflowing

Abuse and violence

Rape and suicide

Addictions extensive

And remedies are sought

But the source isn’t prevented

The brokenness of our land’s foundation

Houses constructed on sand

ignored.

From the windows young faces

Peer from tattered curtains

Tear-stained eyes

because they could not

and cannot say:

“This is my family, whom I love”

Above the water

And the land

the crowning of creation

“it is good”

we as people

heart and bones

two flesh become one

establishing a legacy

for days to come.

Eternal vows

broken in a brief minute.

Promises shattered,

single eyes cry,

over bulging bumps

isolated grief.

“Where is my family, who I love?”

The cry of too many.

Do you have room 

at your table

to feed the family-less?

When they need not just 

the edible food prepared

But the restoration

And nourishment

and their hearts?