Heritage

The hem of her white dress
washed up against the gravel road.
The oaks scattered sunlight 
through their leaves
like puzzle pieces at her feet.
The slight breeze rustled her silk veil
and sent it dancing 
through the trees.

Her head rest twisted 
up against the decaying leaves.
The green foliage around her
was dyed deep red from the blood
matting around her head. 

In a wedding dress 
steeped with scarlet blood
she was sent to the chapel 
after months
spent in a dull blue gown
in a hospital bed.

Four children 
condemned to birth in a fragmented home.
A single girl denied a childhood
to raise three brothers and her mother
all alone.

With nothing but a father
who was gone all day 
and a china doll 
whose face had been smashed
like her mothers brain, 
the little girl grasped
for her life
everyday.

The little girls grandmother came 
but like a candle 
lit under the drapes
began a fire in its wake
and sent the little girls mother
into a suspicious rage.

Like Lizzie Borden with her ax
the little girls mother tried to kill
the one person who was trying 
to rescue her 
from hell.

Decades later,
I sit at home 
on the worn wool carpet
playing with the china dolls,
that my grandma gave to me