Lentils

D. H. Torkavian

I took a handful of lentils before leaving my home forever.

I walked the wake of my grandmothers before me.

A simple trail of sandy dirt, grass, trees, bushes,

Small rocks call me home.

I let the lentils slip through my fingers as I walked my trial.

An ingot heavy in my pocket, iron.

Through bramble and beating hearts torn clean from perfect chests.

None are spared.

I pounded lentils into the red glowing ingot, flattening, heating, and flattening again.

Sharp, folded, my story is told with crimson strokes, broken bones, torn flesh.

A widows tears turn to hate, they take up blades to end the pain.

To cut me down.

I gave my daughter lentils this morning.

Tomorrow she takes up my journey with a handful of lentils and a pocket full of ingot.

And I wonder,

How far will she go to avenge her pain?

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D. H. Torkavian

D. H. Torkavian