Cheek Bones

My mother hangs her face from my grandfather’s cheekbones,

and all her sharp faced kin-folk are the same.

We share ourselves, like strings of pearls, each one connected, each alone, 

all high-boned, feline-features, caught inside a picture frame.

And all her sharp faced kin-folk are the same.

In past-life Sunday suits, and whale bone dress,

all high boned feline features, caught inside a picture frame,

my ancestry stares forward to a time they can’t address.

In past life Sunday-suits and whale bone dress,

they sit, no hint of aspirations, or of fears,

my ancestry stares forward to a time they can’t address,

their stories all diluted, dissipated by the years.

They sit, no hint of aspirations or of fears,

What secrets did they have, what sins went unatoned?

Their stories all diluted, dissipated by the years.

Did they wonder at the future births, all branded with their bones?  

What secrets did they have, what sins went unatoned?

My face can give no answers, just the bones that I’m bequest.

Did they wonder at the future births, all branded with their bones?

My mirror is a mimic to the cheek bones laid to rest.

My face can give no answers, just the bones that I’m bequest,

we share ourselves, like strings of pearls, each one connected, each alone. 

My mirror is a mimic to the cheek bones laid to rest.

My mother hangs her face from my Grandfather’s cheekbones.