Welcome to my family

She picked the comb up from the table, She held it to her throat And reminisced that midnight fable The one with the small rowing boat, Filled with family members, four Who rowed and rowed with all their might Until the heavens began to pour Yet, still they rowed into the night. They rowed until their hands were blistered, Their skin raw, red; Their knuckles white. They rowed until their wrists were twisted Yet, felt naught but old ‘household’ fright. Though hours, days, maybe years went by, there was simply silence. As if they’d all had punctured ears But that’s too sweet to be the instance. The truth it seems, is they’d had no practice Their brains were worn by domestic negligence And though there’s nothing physical; fact is: I’ve been sculpted by my bloodline’s silence. …She took her mothers comb and pushed, How light and feathery she felt. Fluttering towards a long lost light A butterfly with wings of felt.