What do we inherit,
Inherit from afar, inherit from beneath,
The broken bones, unspoken dreams,
Bones on the kitchen table,
Bones up my sleeve,
Down my tongue, scratching the surfaces,
Interiors, syringes, stinging, pestering,
Scratching you and me,
Not yours, not mine, and yet,
They’re curdling underneath my skin.
She made my bones heavy,
Her voice is sinking and drowning
And screaming as she talks from
Her prison underwater,
As she cradles the robbed valley,
As she cradles thin air, despair,
To remain close to what was there,
Hands, too long, of the past, of ours,
That we didn’t even know,
But grew familiar with,
The dead have voices,
They are mute,
They act and revive their agency
In our bodies,
Are you listening to your own body
Or the broken spirit of another
Who started sinking, sinking deeply
Into you, a home within you,
A loophole, a way to get back in the game
That seemed lost and never played,
She is absorbing them all,
They fought their way in amongst each other
And it hurts to listen, to look, to feel
The things and fend them off,
She wants his weight back,
The weight beside her,
The bones unbroken,
The spirit rekindled in the proper body,
Regenerated, towards life that seemed unfinished,
Away from the claws of the past
That have always resided in the same houses with us,
In our bodies, suppressed and resurfacing,
Screaming whilst speaking, crying voicelessly,
Tears, glass, frozen, gas, invisible, surrendering,
Everything, claiming back the vanished, on a platter,
Hands shivering, heart barely holding it together,
Everything goes, everything swamps its way in,
Into a body where everything gets stuck,
Where nothing is let out, where the unwanted stays
And degenerates and grows, and I must watch,
And I seem to cannot get my voice across,
A part of me, parts of me, staring and colliding.
Croque-Melpomene 