Olivia Siddons

Unspoken Blueprint by Olivia Siddons 

Every family has “survival gear” they pass down

A grandmother’s unwavering patience,

A father’s quiet way of fixing things with no complaints,

Shared family jokes that cut through the thickest of tensions.

Often, the best parts of us aren’t things we invent,

We are beneficiaries of generations of unseen work.

The hidden truth is the living legacy within.

The ability to keep your head in a crisis, 

A specific way of making one feel welcome.

On the days you spent focusing on what’s broken,

Others spent their days focusing on what’s thriving.

As I traced the route back home on a map,

I found my father’s hands at the end of my own arms today.

As I sat in heavy silence waiting for my emotions to settle,

I found my grandmother’s patience settling into the marrow of my bones.

As I watched a shadow cross your face,

I found my mother’s eyes looking out from the mirror of my own.

We all belong somewhere.

Traits are like tools.

These tools were designed for a specific environment.

The silent breathing of the floorboards of a nostalgic home.

One that has cracked yellow paint and smells of warm rain.

A low valley that presses against your spine.

A meandering river that flows with your tears.

An hour is spent picking lint from a velvet coat.

It is a quiet war compared to the dust of the world.

No one talks about how to let go,

Or that the hardest part of a map is deciding which way to turn

When the ink begins to fade.

What will you leave in the floorboards for the descendants

After you?