Family

by Zachary A. Horn

We become
strangers
to our
past.

More
estranged
each year
from
childhood.

Yet we
return.

Ritualistically
to the womb
of our
creation.

Back
to those
who loved
us first.

Who
love us
most.

Who
know us
least.

Back
to those
who love
us because
we are
theirs.

Primordially
bound in
blood and
memory.

Family.

Irrevocably
tied from
beginning
to end.

Who we
are and
have
become.

Incidental
to what
we are.

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