Legacy [Original Poem]

Poetry

WRITING PROMPT #64

I’ve never used a word pool for an exercise on this blog, so let’s start now:

messy
ceremony
clamp
anchor
insect
brine
legacy
suffocate
borrow
turbulence
cannon
devote
burden
detangle


Legacy 

As humans, we grew out of the sea,
floated to the top
to join the brine,
switching our fins
for windpipes, telling our lungs
to gulp the air,
to whisper an inhale
then
let the secret of life dance across our tongues,
as we learnt to walk
and danced across the shores,
onto land,
only now to
sigh out an exhale so easily.
The ceremony of breathing,
has become so foreign to us
that now
it is difficult to step on land without
suffocating.
On those same shores,
where my homo sapien family walked,
I can barely breathe.
My legacy is now held between
my curves,
I am no longer human.
I am on holiday there.
I am wearing a swim-suit.
People,
are staring.
I am no longer human,
I have been reduced to a
piece of fabric,
it clamps my mouth shut
— my legacy is held within it.
As humans, after we came on land,
we anchored ourselves,
deep into it,
into the soil.
You would have found us,
with the insects,
messy and mud-covered.
Our windpipes filled with
the smell of soil
and freshly cut grass,
the dandelion seeds caught
in the washing line of wind where
we would
hang our worries out to dry.
Now, the seeds have become a burden.
We devote our time to
detangling ourselves from
that same washing line —
hay-fever medicine galore.
I am told that if I do not take certain precautions,
I may die.
I am so afraid of death…
and I wonder why?
My grandma, with her legacy,
of only the pieces of clothes she had
on her back,
laughed in the face of death,
running with her family,
when the ground beneath her,
split in two,
when the dividing line
shook,
turbulent and wild as
the maps shifted and changed shape,
like a newborn’s brain being moulded.
Maybe, it’s time I borrowed my ancestor’s ideas —
re-learn
how to breathe,
who I am,
that my legacy isn’t set by anything,
isn’t cannonical but rather
that my legacy can be
shot,
out of a canon into the clouds,
making a gaping hole between them
for me
to propel myself through.

This was written as part of National Novel Writing Month 2017 [Day 4]

One thought on “Legacy [Original Poem]

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