Heritage

Heritage,
I don’t use that word enough.
I like heritage that isn’t quite a possession.
It’s a gown sown into the skin
From mother to daughter,
From aunties of distant relations.
Those you know only in black and white,
Those who fearlessly wrote the future
In a flutter of carnal motion.
Then, they put a note of courage in your hem.

Heritage,
something handed down from the past.
Will I carry a handful of suffering, or triumph?
It’s in the reach of my arms,
Something worthwhile.

I want to be the heir of women holding time.
Those harnessing an energy so potent
Everything stalls in their path
Hovering in a moment of grace.
Women holding time
Phenomenally,
Stepping beyond their place.

Absorbing all that I can,
I feel the urge to gather
Myself
My heritage
The frayed edges of my gown
Into my hands
To stamp my legacy
In this temporal race.