If only your mother had been a waterfall 
            or a strawberry bush, a flock 
of albatross with sun 
            woven into their veins. If only 
your father cried, even once, 
            or saw a mug of coffee perched in moonlight 
and exclaimed 
            that's beautiful enough to paint.
Haven't you realized? 
            Everything you did not inherit 
went to someone else. 
            No matter what language you speak
they’ll open your jaws wide
            and bare witness to your family tongue,
your ancestral molars. Can you ever forgive
           your grandfather for painting your eyes 
the wrong color, or your grandmother 
          for never laughing? Maybe you could have been born
laughing, but your heirlooms were air
           and you were taught thankfulness for lungs 
to breathe it. The truth is
           no inheritance is owed. Stop staring
at the horizon,
            it is not yours, never will be,
you come from people 
           who gaze at the land. 
The world is not taken,
           it's passed. Even if you whet an axe,
sever your lineage, 
           blood is awfully hard
to clean, the stains will remain 
           and one day
they may be all you have left.