Erin Beckett Poet Rhyme

The Hardest Pill

How can I say what I'm like?
It's easier 
to talk about you.

Or them.

My mother
was like peering from the dark and cold
through a window to a fire-lit room,
full of odds and ends from times that were concrete,
decadent with materialism... routine.
You can only see the outline
of her face turned but you know
its radiating warmth, her eyes
flashing with an intensity 
that's sometimes meaningless to you.
An enigma, but still
you feel steadier on your feet
just by looking in. 

My father
was a flat surface, and you know
there's something underneath but it's rarely used,
much less seen. His voice 
was a soothing vibration of practicalities,
and not much else.
But that was enough.

My step-father too,
a large man with a large capacity 
to solve everything we'd throw out,
a solid mixture of no-bull*****goodness,
like it was easy.
I was lucky I know.

And I've been here and there...
There's too many things
I'd think was important,
that didn't turn out to be,
that I thought made me 
who I was...

But I don't feel the connections
driving me, knowing ourselves
through and through 
is the hardest pill 
we can never swallow.
Who are you?

Instead, tell me
where it is you wanna go,
and maybe
I'll take me with you.

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