Relationships, friendships are a funny thing.
You hangout, building a bond, laying a foundation of something you want to last

and eventually, they take you home to meet Mom, Dad, and even the pets.

At first, it’s nerve-wracking.
You step carefully, awkwardly,
trying not to be a bother.

But slowly, conversations spark
first small, then more,
until you’re staying over,
awake past everyone’s bedtime.

Morning comes with their dad’s footsteps.
Loud. S O  L O U D.
And you think:
I guess I’m on the inside now.

Football Sundays shift
shared now with Taylor Swift concerts,
Super Bowls traded for Swift Bowls.

There are inside jokes:
about the dog, the cancer, the dad,
how we’re all so selfish.

They know my dreams,
my love for coffee.
We bond over books,
laugh at the absurdity of Jersey Shore,
because the cabs are here!

We tease the one who brought us together,
poking fun with love in our voices.

My culture grows to embrace theirs.
For how could I not love the luck of the Irish?

My love for spice melds
with their sweet tooth.

Long walks with the family dog
I wish I had as a kid.

Family game nights,
something I never knew I missed.
Now I have them.

They fill a part of me,
I didn’t know was empty.

A second family,
who has taken me in and cared for me.
Given me a part of them.