Ancestors

We should grieve

For our ancestors 

But they are quietly murmuring 

In the crevices of our past 

Deep wails

That want to be heard 

Visible as bruises

On the skin 

Of a soft peach 

The depth of the hurt

So far away 

I throw salt

Over my shoulder

Stand at the edge of the door

If only we could leave 

Visit the fields and hills 

Alice lifts her eyes up

To meet mine

They are the clearest blue

She deserves much more than this

We both do

She whispers

As I shut the door

And focus

On the sound

Of our ancestors.