I used to ask so many questions,
hoping to uncover my past, her past, their past.

I was never as afraid as I should’ve been,
of the answers that had waited dormant
gathering dust in her mind

The more answers given to me, the less I wanted to know,

the more I wished I never knew,

the more I mourned the sins of his past

the more I allowed my questions to cease.

In her words, full of sharp honesty, reluctant to fulfill my requests,

my wide-eyed wonder died, making way for a quiet adult, burdened with the trauma of three generations.