The inheritance of loss
Often told as a tragic story
I sit here writing
while gripping onto the edges of every passing day
hoping to change the narrative of this pain
I'm sorry to my daughter;
there were too many things I never solved
I walked with this heaviness
with a dream to transform the world for you
but instead, I lost and lost
and left these wounds on your carpet
watered a grass that was already dead
and called it advocacy
The inheritance of loss
is beaded into these gold bangles
the same ones my mother gave me
the same ones I keep for you

What I have passed on to my son
is often unclear to me.

I just know
that I had the grace to ensure
the package I passed on
is not the one I received

and that the extent to which
it will be unpacked and utilised
is not mine to determine.

That choice was part of the package.

lack of future preparation - inherit debris fields of neglect




Mark Toney © 2022

Reflected apparent.
A tilted eye shows long
Stupefied sadness.
And the nose, swollen where it oughtn’t to be
Squats bulbous and surrounded by age.
Coated in a fine craquelure
That won’t be restored any time.
Somehow the working of a smile forces
Furrows deeper.
There is no wisdom in the life you forfeited.
And the pain is reflected in my own record.
My image made weaker in your likeness.

Giving up is easy
excuses are easier
hard is to stay
and make them work is harder

Our archives were
Hardworker
who invested as
Co-worker
and results weren't flying along colours
and so discarded

Appreciation lies in their patience
Compassionate was their love
Beautiful was their compatibility
Love was theirs
and lovers were they

Options were lame
they wanted long answer type questions
luck wasn't in their list
but she was his destiny

All that never goes
that is preserved prestigious
in our small boxes of memories
that we would never allow to flee
these boxes are ours
and our heart soul all inherited
from him......

As we got older, it became clear
that we wouldn’t have the luxuries

of drink without worry,
of sleep without restlessness,

of raising children
without fear for their survival.

It became clear
that we would never garner

the respect of our elders
no matter how dearly we pined for it,

and that the world itself
would smolder

while those responsible
rested comfortably in their graves,

and those of us to whom
our forebears’ sins were bequeathed

would be left to choke on the smoke
and ashes

of a promise to posterity
allowed to burn instead.

What inheritance

do we receive as children? –


Only the future.