|Claire with her muse|
We come together, a mixed set of ages, experiences and perspectives, tied together by ancient history, common ancestors and shared memories.
Flying from east and west coast into the center where it began and ended for the immigrants and will end in distant days for those who stayed. The much maligned snow capital, tiresome and difficult in winter, gifts us with warm, sunny days and cool evenings.
The poetry of our encounters embraces many forms: the rambling prose poetry of one on one long conversations, short, punchy exchanges that leap---haiku to haiku and the occasional blank verse.
Some of us speak in lower case, others in italics. There is an ease of language, a connection without the need for explanations that eliminates the dictionary and takes us quickly to the heart of the matter or perhaps better said---the matter of heart.
It is a language of mixed metaphors---losses, disappointments, accomplishments, leavings, beginnings, and secrets once whispered that are now openly spoken and enrich the family history.
In many ways it is a universal language---one that all families speak and understand, but since it does have its own idioms and dialect, it becomes the poetry of our family.
A poetry that is comfortable and comforting and a joy to speak.