I carry the blood of many men
In my village, a stone cross stands on the coast of at lunaire , an epitaph of men who didn’t made it back home


A chemist aids in the end of the next world war
And he’s smiling, writes a book for his first granddaughter to learn the measures of the worlds excellence
But stops halfway after losing control of half of his body
He now gargles clementines and white wine in a mouth that speaks none

My grandfather sings sea shanties in his office alone, from a tape, and it bellows
Those words are the only time I’ve heard him form a sentence in 5 years

The soul has a funny way of reminding us where we came from

I carry the blood of many men
My father comes to this country seeking redemption for potential potentially lost
And through slurries of slurs and unmarked lost words
Builds an empire of wine and gin and ***

He is alone, but when we dance as a child I can see how his steps are just a lineage strewn from my own
Edith piath and Celine dion course through a heart too heavy for his own good
But he loves all like a baker his bread on Sunday morning
Takes it home and breaks it apart for his daughters and son

The soul has a funny way of reminding us where we came from