I am the oldest of four. There is me and then my sister, Christine, my sister, Catie, and my brother Andrew. Some families are closer than others. I feel fortunate that we grew up in a family unit – we each functioned within that unit and we also stayed connected to that unit.
As I became a mother myself, my family became its own family unit and we were also folded into the larger group. And so, we continued, always willing to bring more into the circle of family and the circle remained intact. Challenged. Weathered. Worn, even. But, unbroken.
This poem is for my siblings. Christine, Catie, and Andrew.
Four.
By Carin L. Reeve
Before two
there was one.
One dreamer.
One story.
One song.
And then there was two.
But there was so much more –
two laughs, two cries
two corners of the same shape.
Two squared
became four.
And four multiplied
the chaos and
the comedy.
Fall, winter, spring are not complete
without summer.
Four pillars
supporting generations of
farmers and entrepreneurs and
feudal administrators.
When one pillar falls
the three remain and
bear the weight.
And yet the three
wish for four.
Different characters in the same story.
Come home.
Our stories are not yet finished.
There is so much left to write.
