There was no silver spoon
Just a shovel
The same one my grandmother
and great-grandmother had held
The same one my mother handed me when she told me to dig her a grave
Because she was too tired to finish it herself
Already got half way through excavating but the pain was too excruciating

The women in my family have spent their entire lives being dug out
Their chest are hollow caverns from the careless tourists who have hollowed them
Shovelful by shovelful
Bucketful by bucketful

My mother did not raise me
Just a skeleton that wore her skin
Empty within
The caves of her eyes cast shadows on her cheeks
The crevice of her lips a ravine that ran straight to hell
A ravine that had swallowed fools whole
Silver-lined tongue and coal-pocked jaw

I have I inherited her suspicion
Her hollow-coldness
Her mystery
Her safe and sound
Underground
In the dark
Where no one can hear the flutter-thump of the bats caught in your stomach

I have inherited her wisdom
Her wit and passion
Her fortitude and ingenuity
Hidden in the dim halls of my veins like jewels in darkness

I was told to protect these little gems of myself
These pieces that I could never get back
Told that once someone found them, they would keep taking and taking until I was truly empty
I was told to never give away all my secrets
Because then I’d become another part of their histories and not their ongoing mysteries
Another tourist attraction, walked through again and again until their feet wore a path so deep in my skin I’d never be able to right myself

I didn’t listen
I let her in
Let her cave-paint me with stories lost to time
Let her explore where no one had gone before
Miner’s daughter, lovely clementine did not leave much else behind
But she did not take more than I had wanted to give her
Did not leave me empty and cold, robbed of riches once untold

So when the next one came
I welcomed her with open arms
Cradled her against waterfall-crashing heartbeat
Made her a place of her own
Gave all I could give without ever feeling that I was selling pieces of who I was
I put down the shovel
And let myself be loved