Just the thought of them makes your jawbone ache:

those turkey dinners, those holidays with

the air around the woodstove baked to a stupor,

and Aunt Lil’s tablecloth stained by her girlhood’s gravy.

A doggy wordless wisdom whimpers from

your uncles’ collected eyes; their very jokes

creak with genetic sorrow, a strain

of common heritage that hurts the gut.

Sheer boredom and fascination! A spidering

of chromosomes webs even the infants in

and holds us fast around the spread

of rotting food, of too-sweet pie.

The cousins buzz, the nephews crawl;

to love one’s self is to love them all.