every member of my family before me suffered
from sadness.
it was not constant; it struck at each unknown moment
there was no warning.
i would come into the living room to find my grandfather
sitting on the edge of his chair
with the newspaper crumpled in his lap,
head in hands and quitely rocking back and forth.
or my mother sobbing in the shower, at the same time
turning up the water because she did not want anyone
to hear her.
my uncle staring at nothing on the front porch,
birds passing their thin blue wings in front of his face.
even the strongest man i ever knew,
my father
covering his eyes with one hand and beating at his legs
with fists at the kitchen table.
it scares me: to be born into sadness,
it must be inevitable to lose your way just like all the others.
it’s only a matter of time;
in fact, recently i lost all interest in things i once loved.
it won’t be long
now.