Inheritance

The walls were stripped bare,

other worldly,

frozen in time.

They said “come, pick something”.

The rooms that once felt so full

now echoed,

silently,

like a well you drop a coin in,

but never,

hear,

a splash.

They said, “take what you want”.

Can you package up revelries?

the ones that have faded,

like old photographs,

Left too long in a shoebox

in the attic.

They said, “Here, take all of this”.

And for a second I forget

…

He won’t need it.

I select a single, bright, obnoxious green lure.

I always loved the way he said

chartreuse,

as I sat there watching his steady hands.

They created beauty

from random piles of mismatched things,

deer tails,

rubber,

cork,

tin.

His blood gifted that power to my mother,

and she passed it down to my own bones.

I marvel at how such a small token,

can hold the breadth of such ancestry.

And I think

I can feel him

smiling

at me.