the family is all there
intact the way a clam shell,
when found whole,
surprises one who often sifts
broken ones of childhood beaches.
the grandson asks if grandma is tired,
she swans upwards at his attention
and mom orders another drink,
a pink one this time. daughter,
safe in the mantle, is asked by dad
have you had enough?
i’m a terrible thing—sluiced off,
loitering near a family lunch,
my tongue slathering the rim
of this perfect, found artifact. then
the muscle clenches, returning the family
to its temporary fortress.
closing out my hunger—
the pearl of which is an awful gift.
