inheritance, a poem about a broken family.
they watched the fire begin,
struck the match with trembling hands
then left us in the smoke
as if our lungs were built for ash.
grandfather, with his sermons and silence,
grandmother, with her pearl wrapped pride -
they turned their gaze to heaven
while we choked on the hell they handed down.
yes he was one of their own,
but they carved his name in exemption
and forgave him with transactions,
with blindfolds sewn from the word family,
and prayers that reeked of guilt
rather than grace.
they funded his silence
and paid him to disappear
but he never left, just turned inward.
a storm which resided in hallways,
slurring apologies to walls
he would later punch.
and when the shouting began,
when the plates broke and the nights turned red,
"it's not our place
it's complicated
there's nothing more we can do."
but we were still children
digging through wreckage
looking for pieces of a parent
that hadn't been handed over to addiction.
they left us at the first hurdle
stepped over the wreck
like it was never theirs,
like their blood didn't live in the scars
we wore like hand me downs.
aunts with stitched smile sympathy,
uncles who vanished in plain sight -
who all sent cards at christmas
but did not care to as why we never smiled
comfort, they chose.
distance.
they chose each other
in whispered justifications
and Sunday dinners without our names.
they built a wall from denials,
mortar made of "not my responsibility"
and left us on the other side
to rot and raise each other in ruins.
and still, they claim to love.
still, they wear the word family
like a crown they never earned.
but love doesn't flinch at damage
and love doesn't vanish when it gets inconvenient.
you saw him drowning us
and handed him another drink.
you turned your head the other way
then looked surprised
when we grew up feral, afraid of kindness
our hearts wired for abandonment
and mouths full of screams
that we couldn't voice.
you called it doing your best
but your best was a vacuum,
an erasure,
a legacy of cowardice
dressed in pearls of politeness.
you left us in the debris
and now you dare to wonder
why we don't come home.
© anna marie atkinson, 2025
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