HEREDITARY

Lying here beneath my feet
is my story.
My history in these bones
gnawed by burrowing rodents,
relics of lifespans lived out
in unfamiliar lands.

These gravestones, lichen encrusted,
bear stark witness
to time's relentless onward march -
so irrelevant in my childhood -
that is slowly but surely grinding
my own flesh into dust.

Oh how they touch me, moment to moment,
these dearly departed!
My bemoaned loneliness becomes
hypocrisy. Just a glance around to see
they're all here and part of me.
Proof enough. And I consider now their lives:

the highs and lows of experience.
Swedish Great Grandmother, Danish Great Great Grandfather and the rest
reach skeletal hands to pull me in.
And an impression looms within earthy depths
of a gene pool, congealed into calcium deposits,
that once wore flesh and flowing hair.

Ah, these long lost relatives! They
are such a puzzling paradox:
perennially here, through births, weddings,
funerals and family heirlooms
and their blood pumping through my veins
takes me with them, like the undead,

into eternity, defying mortality
from century to century until I go,
a link in the hereditary chain of descent,
to rest beside them
and take root
while the living forget my name.