Inheritance

My grandmother gave me this darkness of eyes and hair. Our ancestors were gypsies begging, wide skirts, skittish heels before the doors to cathedrals. My grandmother gave me this quivering chin and sharp nose. Our ancestors were insane. They emigrated thick satchels over shoulders to the madhouse. We strapped them into bed. My mother gave me this sleeplessness and these delicate hands. Hers were chapped, the threads hanging in graceful threads so long she never began, she never ended. I gave me this mutiny heart. With your hands on my hair and eyes just below my lips, I am only aware of the door.