Amanda Oaks		family ties: my good fortune avacados sit ripening on the table, now quiet this morning, still full of fingerprints from last night's meal, branches scraping the surface, your tiny feet-- roots dangling from your chair you began way before my head found the alcove of your father's neck, words floating on breath before we even met you both were the thread i sat winding around wooden spools at my grandmother's feet, strung so tight it'd leave a lateral line across my thumb, where if examined closely you'd find our names-- riddles, riding on the spiral of my fingerprint		when the moon is heartless, strike a match laughter lays this bridge between thought & being, we spend most of our days seated on its edge dangling our feet, pockets heavy with skipping stones, pondering our absoluteness with fingers & toes uncrossed, we drew a map in case we one day forget how to get here, in red i wrote danger down the moonless path we just came from, sketched a better escape route, drew X's where we planted candles & made a pact just in case we found ourselves there again, you stepped up to tack it on the wall while i held the chair