My mother has wings
she hides in the crawlspace
they flutter in the dark
like primordial whispers
My father left blueprints
of the sky that made him
the clouds were his bones
before he was eclipsed
My sister divines ancestral trauma
it sprouts from the earth
and streams out of her voice
like untamed centipedes
I watch them from afar
stretching out tattered arms
I am too weak to hold
the tide of their receding silence
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