Toesies touching on linoleum laid over
concrete set over
the soil of the Hillcountry of Texas.
I dance with my father
kicking up audible shuffles through the breezy screen door.
Onto the patio we swing bumping into mamas and babies and grandpeople.
Their shuffles are audible too,
nestled behind JJ Cale. Call me the breeze.
At dusk the family dances.
Bathing-suited mamas and babies and grandpeople lay on
innertubes floating on
the the Guadalupe River.
We traveled to the bridge to float home on the clear green current.
Away from water moccasins at the banks we splash
imagining alligator gars and catfish nibbling on toesies.
We smell of sunscreen and dusty lifejackets.
Home the family floats.
Older we grew.
Farther we moved.
Scattered across plains, hills, and mountains we flew.
Babies turned to fathers.
Fathers turned to soldiers.
Girls turned to wives.
Mamas and Daddies turned to grandpeople.
Grandpeople turned to great-grandpeople.
All of us little people bound together, called family.
Eachother the family loves.
Minds recall faces and lovely memories nestled in
the families branched of Billingslea- Hobbs and Moore.
We remember and miss and talk to God about eachother.
We walk along the paths laid before us
hoping for the intersection of convenience and missing.
One day we’ll find ourselves reunited in one
Home we are headed!