My father died
before he could tell me
that your lungs fill
and you drown in yourself
as your heart fails.

My sister died
silent with the knowledge
that you taste the waste
your kidneys can't expel
as they slowly shut down.

My brother died
within the shell washed up
by the rolling tide of blood
from the bursting of
cerebral arteries.

My mother died
desiccated, emaciated,
her bitterness consumed
in the uncontrolled growth
of her cancerous sweetbreads.

One never lives
until they learn for themselves
the lessons of the lives
the histories and the deaths
of their inheritances.