The Blind Inheritance

He never told me about the cellar Only that silence was cheaper than yelling I watched his hands shake when he lit his cigarette Some ghosts don't speak – they just borrow your breath My therapist says "trauma has a shape" But his shape was a father I never met – an invisible cape She asks me: "Do you think someone broke him first?" I stare at the window. The glass knows thirst. It's a blind inheritance, a mute parade A bruise that doesn't need to be made Your father's father's fear in your bloodstream You break the thing you love – then you call it a dream Who broke him? We'll never know. The chain just keeps swinging, blow after blow. He put me to bed with a lesson: "Don't cry" Maybe his own father taught him how to die Inside, while walking, while eating, while shaving The inheritance passes – silent, misbehaving I found an old photo: a boy with a black eye Same left orbit as mine. Same frozen sky. She asks me: "Do you forgive him if he didn't choose it?" I say: "Understanding is not the same as losing it." It's a blind inheritance, a mute parade A bruise that doesn't need to be made Your father's father's fear in your bloodstream You break the thing you love – then you call it a dream Who broke him? We'll never know. The chain just keeps swinging, blow after blow. What if his grandfather held a secret he couldn't confess What if the first wound was wrapped in tenderness We are radios tuned to a station of static Handing down the broken – the automatic Therapy gave me one question without a reply: "If you knew his story, would you still ask him why?" It's a blind inheritance, a mute parade A bruise that doesn't need to be made Your father's father's fear in your bloodstream You break the thing you love – then you call it a dream Who broke him? We'll never know. I'm still here – and I'm letting it go. The chain... ...stops here. Maybe.