Peel of your skin
Open up your muscles
Crack open your bones to take a look inside
See the generations crawl backwards
Through the same mess
Abuse, dominance, fear
There are no new sorrows running in your veins
Your mother has felt it and so has your father
Stories and scrapbooks, old record players and blankets
They are passed down from parent to children
Tradition holds caskets full of antiques and poems for her children's children to read
To write them as well
In different bodies, new homes with younger skin patiently waiting to reveal their own lives
To their children