For some years
we face the world
as a family of seven
three boys, two girls
and the parents
under one roof
one sky
one way together
and then we extend
one then two to college
one to marry
one to nursing school
one to drama and protest
and conscientious objection
and one left over
the cuckoo’s nest
then a kid or two
a marriage broken
an affair, a compromise
a retirement
a move to SF, to LA
to Laguna, and back
another marriage, or two
and then one to the nursing home, a long decline,
and then a death
some last minute poetry
another death,
and now the last was first
to go as well
still, as if in a game of
so many pieces
we are still seven
even as one piece
after another
is no longer
on the table