Your fingers delineate maps
In attempts at enveloping all of you.
Ache to have a face of your own:
You wear an ancestor's face.
Look down in the bath and they stare back,
Deforming slowly within the ripples.
Shut your eyes tight and gauge them out
Yet, you dance with resemblant ghosts.
Toss memories out on the road,
Ignite gasoline on the grounds behind you
Yet, they crawl right back into your veins.
Will you look after them?
Blanket the ghosts in you for insulation,
Ask to hold hands for comfort?
Stifle the wrench,
Because you'll never hold your very own?
Sit there in deafening silence,
With the unfathomable ghosts of ancestry
That linger around in your children, and theirs
Long after you're gone.
House a body for eighty-something years.
Ache for it to someday feel like your own.
Hope for resemblance to fade away,
But you'll always wear an ancestor's face.
Shanum closely resembles a raccoon, send her reasons to cut down on caffeine at [email protected]