FAMILY 

poem  FOR TODAY - mARCH 29, 2014

Begotten

I've never, as some children do,

looked at my folks and thought, I must

have come from someone else—

rich parents who'd misplaced me, but

who would, as in a myth or novel,

return and claim me. Hell, no. I saw

my face in cousins' faces, heard

my voice in their high drawls. And Sundays,

after the dinner plates were cleared,

I lingered, elbow propped on red

oilcloth, and studied great-uncles, aunts,

and cousins new to me. They squirmed.

I stared till I discerned the features

they'd gotten from the family larder:

eyes, nose, lips, hair? I stared until,

uncomfortable, they'd snap, "Hey, boy—

what are you looking at? At me?"

"No, sir," I'd lie. "No, ma'am." I'd count ten

and then continue staring at them.

I never had to ask, What am I?

I stared at my blood-kin, and thought,

So this, dear God, is what I am.

(c) Andrew Huggins