Photo by 3Motional Studio
Would that I could come from a proud custom / something I could pass on to my children / and they would be honored to do the same / weaving back through their ancestry. Tradition would be a tread strong enough to transform the broken into a tapestry / every stitch fastening its rough and worn textures / experience / into patterns recognized by its struggles / relating through its course strain its victories and defeats / the broken filling its patches with its fabric / sharing its own. Excited to try again, they look back and find their heritage / their courage / and look forward to finding other broken members of their family / owning the strength to continue. I see customs going away / disappearing year by year by inhospitable weather. They have been replaced by communities of single homes with welcome mats that read private property / keep out / you’re on camera.