we were never a family
they tried to make us one though
called it to our faces even
but they only ever got signatures
from one side of the street.
It was the doves who told me,
mourning and morning have different meanings,
family and family do too, I whispered back.
I’m thinking about legacy lately
wondering what it means when someone dies
and I must know how
what it means when someone dies
and I don’t.
The ancestors came, in the wee, small hours
not to collect me, (not yet)
but rather to wake me from the dream I keep living
the one where I am unworthy-
Imagine for a moment the person who knows you best
a tall order, I suppose
the person who knows me best
is not recognizable in human form
what would you think then, if a butterfly gave you a gift?
a piece of its wing
its view from above
would you take it in?
enough to lift it from its crushed velvet box?
or would you leave it there, hidden
for no one else to see at all?
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