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Generations

2020

By Krys Howard-ClarkePublished 3 years ago 1 min read
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Generations
Photo by Sincerely Media on Unsplash

There was a poison in the mothers before me

It darkened their livers and lined their eyes.

Anger.

Joined by the chord, but separate from them

I thought myself immune.

I seem to be trying to get back to a past version of me

As though she were waiting.

As if I could strip back the layers of years

And she would recognise me.

Some days I barely recognise myself as the foundations continue to shift beneath my feet

Opening casms of change.

I feel as though we have lost the land.

I feel it underfoot.

The earth crumbling

With the weight of each step.

My feet heavier than those

Of my ancestors.

I worry my choices are

Leadening the feet of my children.

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