the family jewels by Norah Laughter (17, Kentucky)

a vision of heirlooms is spread across 
the grand piano, history aplenty, 
photos a touch away from disintegration 
and trinkets made from sterling silver. 

​

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inside a sickly yellow envelope is a collection
of notes, each written in delicate, slanted
cursive. a small, 
prophetic water droplet blurs the ink, 
the words “with love” a victim of a tear. 

despite the poetry written, the recipient was unable
to beam—no, the words were met with salt and
resentment. it was always so hard to be jovial, so
hard to accept love from hopeful interests, it was
simpler to evade bliss. 

this was an inheritance i did not expect; 
it did not come in a suede box with yellowing trim, nor
can it be found stashed in a chest in the corner of the
attic. sadness, rather, is a jewel found in gray matter. 

yet you could tuck an antique pistol behind
my ear and whisper threats, and i would 
be unwilling to share my precious family
jewels. every ache is a gift from my
ancestors. 

my tightened throat and overactive mind 
some of the few remnants they left to my
name. the illness that was theirs is now
​mine; 
our generational curse with the hardness of a diamond.