My grandfather spoke a language
I was unaware I understood.
He sent it to me cryptically,
From his grandfather to me,
Through my father’s unspoken longings.
I don’t know how far back it comes from,
Whose ancient lives first unknowingly
Encoded warning messages into
The brain stems of my ancestors
Producing the babel present in my ears.
I labor to be still so things
Have a chance to float to the surface.
They come, clear as hieroglyphics,
Sealed behind stone and buried beneath sand.
Even with everything I know about myself
Sometimes I still feel at the edge of the desert
Removing one grain of sand at a time.
I can’t help thinking I’ll never understand
Things my body cannot forget.
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