Poem: Universal Family

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   I watch

   as the wavy lines on the maps

   move, and the countries’

   names are strange, but the people

   themselves seem most familiar –

 

   like distant cousins in another

   state whose names you once knew

   well, but had forgotten, till

   the family newsletter came

   in the post, and past and present

 

   were linked once again –

   almost as if you and they

   had flung open an iron gate,

   or leaped a knee-high picket

   fence, and settled in to chat –

 

   all time forgotten in the flush

   of fresh memories –

   sweet as the scent of pine

   on a forest floor after a long,

   hard winter.

 

                         © Diane Beaty

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