My father, his skin dark from days in the sun, smells of ash from the fire he stokes to warm the house. He roams the house at night, unable to sleep, always tired. His eyes, with constant bags under them. He forgets to smile sometimes. But I know that he loves me.
And my mother, her skin smelling of a warm summer day with the damp sting of sweat seeped into it. Her eyes permanently squinting from years of laughter. Our bond eternal from countless nights of laughter and tears. Her arms are the ones I want to be held by, she holds me tightly and I am safe.
My sister, her eyes searching me, begging me to open up to her, to be kinder. Her eyes, always a clear window to her pure heart. Her laugh echoing through the house and her tears staining her pale cheeks.
My dog, dirty from outside, paws at my feet, leaves a trail of debris behind. He smells of grass and dirt as I pull him close.
My grandmother, my fathers mother, in a home filled with stained wooden furniture from her late husband. The bitter taste of soda reminds me of every thanksgiving we spent there.
My grandmother, my mothers mother, forgetting who we are. Her eyes filled with an innocent confusion, smiling and shaking her head as we speak of the memories that now only we hold.
My grandfather, my fathers father, long forgotten in my childhood memories. I only know him as my father remembers him which is rare and bitter.
My grandfather, my mothers father, with his old musky scent from the coats he has collected from yard sales through the years. He lives with us now, constantly reminiscing the days when his wife loved him back.
And my lover, with his crooked teeth and smiling eyes. He feels like home when he kisses me. His lips are a song I could hum forever. He holds me as he tells me he loves me. We share our secrets, speaking quietly on the pale moonlit evenings. We talk of the future we hope to share someday.