Spread before me,
What I stand to gain.
Passed down by blood and through death
from the family line.
The pearls glow grey
amidst the WASP-ish silence
my grandmother raised us in. And her mother before
and my father after.
Fix your hair, wear your pearls, line your lips,
and keep them closed.
The diamonds sparkle in the light,
the price of a blind eye, of forgiveness,
Without apology. Forgiveness where none is due.
For peace and reputation worth more than
The studded earrings he brought you when you found
Her.
And the ruby solitaire.
The ring that popped the question and
sealed the deal. Sealed her fate.
And mine.
It glows large and red. A promise of security,
wealth, a future.
At the cost of a temper to match
that flares red hot to burn. To strike.
Wounds open and hearts are broken,
Stitched up in the quiet of the kitchen.
The gems sparkle against the document
that calls them mine. The final will and testament.
It lists the jewels and their value,
but not the cost.
Not the inheritance that blood has already
promised me.
Do they seal my fate or merely reflect what
I have no power to refuse?
My family made their choices, caused and took
their pain, broke hearts and lives around them.
Generations later,
I am gifted with the gems the outside saw,
but am I also cursed with the pain they hid?
Le Raconteur 