My family is like
Pumpkin Cookies.
The sweet spices,
the warmth
as they come out
of the oven.

My stepdad is like
the pumpkin spice.
He's strong, but good
in moderation.

My mom is like
the oven.
Large and in charge.

My grandma is like
the sweet smell
you get when
you cook them.

My brother is
the burnt cookies
nobody wants.

And I, am the
sweet cream
cheese frosting,
that ties us all
together.

Every year we
gather to someone's
house, bearing food
and cheap booze.

But every year,
something changes,
someone dies,
someone moves.
That is the feeling,
of all the cookies gone.