Alesia Leach | + Follow Poet |
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Inheritance of Fire

My father never hit me--
he just taught me how to burn.

Taught me silence
was safer than softness,
that anger was armor
and kindness a weakness
someone would use.

I watched him carve the word weak
into everything he feared,
watched him drown my brother’s voice,
cut my mother’s name from the air.

Hate was our heirloom.
Polished like silver.
Passed down like gospel.

I almost gave it to my son.

But I let him cry.

And the fire stopped
with me.

Copyright © Alesia Leach | Year Posted 2025

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Tom Woody Date: 5/19/2025 6:12:00 AM Good for you, or at least for your subject. We are not destined to become our parents. Login to Reply Alesia Leach Date: 5/23/2025 4:33:00 PM Thank you, Tom. That means a lot. Breaking the cycle is quiet work, but it’s powerful. We may carry the fire, but we don’t have to pass on the burn. I’m glad that came through.

Paige Hind Date: 5/18/2025 2:30:00 PM Like Enigma's song, "Silence Must Be Heard" - thank God you let your son cry. It's healing to you. Login to Reply Alesia Leach Date: 5/23/2025 4:15:00 PM Thank you, Paige. That reference to “Silence Must Be Heard” struck me deeply--such a haunting, true line. I think sometimes letting the silence break is the most human thing we can do. I’m grateful the emotion resonated with you. Your words feel like a balm.