Generations

Generations

The tall man doesn’t move with confidence
He’s careful
As if he’s been made aware
Many, many times over
Of the length of his limbs
Of the weight of his flying hands
Of how the scattering of ornaments
Is accompanied by the shattering of voices

The grey woman doesn’t speak with confidence
She’s careful and quiet
As if she’s been made aware
Many, many times over
Of the fragility of her position
Of how annoying her voice can be
Of how her weightless opinions
Are accompanied by crushing laughter

We lash out and we lash down
In moments of learned repulsion
Projecting self-images onto those who lash down in their turn
Passed on like ginger hair and favourite recipes
Honouring a tradition that began before memory

An unbroken chain
Without a weak link.

 

February 2024

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