Night descended on her
like an elevator untethered,
her memories in freefall into darkness.
She could not forget the stories
the elder ones quietly told,
the numbers always clothed over,
their smiles forced or freely given,
depending on the direction
of the ever-present winds of emotion.
She knew she was a prisoner of her past,
her inheritance both joys and horrors
interwoven into the fabric of her psyche.
She wanted to face life with
a rough grace, but how often had she
been torn by anger, frustration, desolation,
the feeling she was captain and crew
of a ship with no sextant and only
moonless, starless sky to guide her.
But from broken moments she pulled
shards, assembled them, bound them
in gold and carefully built the life
her ancestors had wanted for her,
a testament to possibility, to compassion,
a fusion of heaven and hell into an Eden
where their Cerberus could be
cast out forever from her garden.

First published in The Write Launch, October 2023
https://thewritelaunch.com/2023/10/barefoot-reconstructions-and-vulcans-flames/