Of Things Familiar

I run my fingers over your curves and lines

Oh, I know them well and with my eyes closed

I can tell where your imperfections are

The beautiful broken, the shards of life

Flung into this cup cradling the strife

Of temporal sorrow and joy

…of dashing barefoot boy

Or the giggling passage of ribbons and curls

And little girls

On their way to being women

And my smile traces these love-worn places

Bearing the permanent image of faces

…on a slide-show of moments where

We gathered for dinner; the table and chairs

Scarred testaments of happiness and family

Of comfort in familiarity

In this place where we come; discarding brave masks

Because we are at home

© Janet Martin