Your legacy must be both love and fear.
I know that when you died, you feared for me.
The family curse you carried in your breast
Was not a gift you wanted to pass on.
But fear of it, just like my love for you,
Must linger in my heart, unwelcome guest!
And as I weep for your too early death,
I also can hear rumblings of my own.
Ah, Mother! We are linked like paper dolls,
A line of little cutouts in a row.
I see my clearest memories in my mirror
And feel your anguish bloom beneath my breast.
For this, my love for you is more, not
less.
In our misfortune there's a common grace:
For me, in that you must have grieved for me;
For you, in what you knew I'd feel for you.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.