Re: The grave

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The Wagger

The grave groans generationally.
The earth insipidly falls caressing
yesterdays’ peach faces,
and the bones of my grandmother and mother.
My skin and features,
and simplistic gestures, walk in family legacy.

My womb cramps,
to the sight of family disease.
The grave is stretched upon my cheeks.
I hear their death call out to me:
May I live in denial.

Despite the ache
living in my bones,
I am alive today. And to all memories lingering.
Another tomorrow,
I will surely die. Death will take me,
leaving my legacy behind.

A new born generation,
young and strong,
bone of my bone,
flesh of my flesh will live on,
with my daughter and son.