why can't we be like them?

all around me
in this tiny Mississippi town
generations growing, spreading
wild like kudzu vines

roots deeper than old sweet gums
blood thicker than water
family forests so thick
no one can find their beginning
or end

food stamp families
trapped in the rut of
working class life
living paycheck to paycheck
slipping a cigarette or a beer
when times get rough
but

they have each other

southern grandmothers
getting to watch their grand babies
grow up and spoil 'em rotten
while they're doing it

and imaginative grandfathers
spinning tails illusive as whippoorwills
reminiscing of their youthful years
of sowing wild oats and
causing trouble

yet I'm the only grandchild
that Mama and Papa get to see grow up
only because they raised me

and my family is scattered
like dandelion seeds in the wind
--no, farther
across the country
spanning sea to shining sea
and beyond

some at odds even after years
refusing to speak
or acknowledge existence of the other
not even to share the joy of a wedding
much less the tribulations
of an ailing loved one

I look at the families
in the down and dirty South
and can't help but wonder
why can't my family groups,
independent and successful as they've been,
come together for even one day,
for something other than

a funeral?