growing up
your parent admits
they can’t know what you’ve been through
you are now older than them,
as your young brother was to you
when he lost his friend
he has carved the way
Seriousness, familiar and unexplained
dormant, not full bodied —
you carried from the start
sleeping each day
sometimes arising—
weighted in the centre of the chest
like water
from your grandmother:
“a tragic life”
sadness which once passed down
skipped a generation
and settled
