Flossie

I wished you'd Steeled your heart, like I have mine, taken them all and moved back to Memphis before it was too late, yet I'd not be the poet here.

I wished you'd coveted their small souls, sparing the intergenerational trauma; leaving me unwounded, set us all free.

With that dark eyed beauty, your dignity, his betrayal you blew. Non sparing in passion you smashed wedding China into pieces, sweetly patterned blue, bits of yellow, throwing dainty silver spoons like darts, even cushioned pins used once in his trousers you'd sewn.

Standing firm, a steamy doft of rage, your tussie mussie of lavender and herbs embellishing the room: you faced him.

You prevailed in haunting us; the Steele families secret legacy. Stoic, we, the survivors of hard labour, mended fences, failed crops and starved horses while you, Flossie, put revenge before your pale babes future. He had the gun he'd knocked from your hand, he was set free the same day as your soul.

Oh, the fire that roared. Your children became adults with memories so vile, when they trickled down to me. The coldness, the temper, the Steele cut façade.

I am the grand-daughter of your daughter who never knew your love. I am the daughter of my mother who pushes me away. Not with a gun, or cause to reckon. Because she wills it.

I am your great-granddaughter, sensitive enough to see that my mother's loss came from you, her mother and now it's just me. I am the one who glues things back together, bit by bit with words. I am the mender, the tale spinner, the weaver that escaped. I was cut from Steele, yet I broke free, my spirit intact.