might our bodies
be sick
and broken
from the
cyclical weight
of our mother’s
(and her mother’s)
trauma?
nearing the end
of a journey
all is revealed
as tangible matter
buried in flesh.
in a soft, yet
deafening whisper
you hear her,
the raging voice
of generations…
“the time is now,”
she says,
“i’ve chosen you
to do the digging.”
Simple and powerfull. There's a "haïku" vibe to it. Good luck for the digging, Anya. And... don't forget your flashlight !
For sure that’s one component. Great piece!