I know of an Irish convict whose hair is a dark rust color,
arrested and shipped to an
unknown land for stealing bread to feed his sickly baby sister.
I know a quick-witted unemployed lawyer with a cocaine addiction.
He has a smile that wilts the hearts and inhibitions
of unsuspecting, beautiful women.
I know a large, grey-haired woman who is the youngest of 13 siblings,
the mother of 5, and the grandmother of 23. With a set weekly routine
and a weakness for sparkling wine, she embodies the ultimate matriarch.
I know a flame-haired marriage celebrant with the prettiest white house,
and a stillborn son she still mourns 30 years after his death.
I know of an unspoken affair between a 16-year-old girl and a married man
that rocks the foundations of a family; a family held together
by secrets, smiles and silence.
Soot, sand, earth, cloud. Multicolored hair and eyes,
sharing the same source of DNA.
This is part of a family tree. It is old, twisted, knotted and unwavering.
It reaches into the soil of the lives of those that created it, fusing them together.