Family

We try to settle in to a lived-in house,
The six of us in two rooms, try
To build our daily rhythms around
A Family of Four,
Who have given up their bedrooms
And turned their house into
Some sort of hotel. 

The young one is Evis, very friendly,
Studying guitar at the school
And playing at the church. 
The older one, Julian, leaves early,
Before we do, in his makeshift taxi.
And when we come back and night,
Sits outside playing cards and drinking
With others I don't know. 
They are very polite. 

The mother insists upon doing our laundry.
This causes a stir, as she wants more money
Than we can pay her, and we are happy
To do it ourselves (all of us armed
With our plastic white bottles of 
Woolite.)  But we reach an agreement.
She irons our T-shirts and boxers. 

The father truly makes me wish
I spoke Albanian.  For while the younger
Generation, our Albanian friends,
Wish they were American, I can see
In the line of his face
And the way he sings the folksongs
That he knows this country in his heart
And loves it like one of his children.
I love to listen to him talk
And wish I knew the meanings of the words.