My father’s family was big.
I don’t mean there were lots of them.
Though there were.
They were big.
Stories were written about them.
And yes,
they were tall.
But they were also big.
They were important.
But only to each other.
They were big.
In 1915,
the newspaper wrote about
the family reunion.
The family is big,
the paper wrote.
Of startling girth.
And yes,
that kind of big.
The kind you notice.
And write about for history.
My father was skinny
but his ancestors were big.
And yes,
I look in the mirror,
and I see
the family thighs.


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