My computer screen hums.
I scan the electric landscape, and out of the corner of my eye I catch a thread,
a shadow of the ghost of my father.
He is shrouded behind the curtain of my mother's heartbreak.
He is there but not there--a name I carry in my heart but elusive.
My father's family--silent, invisible--have never known me nor I them.
Whether by intention or ignorance, it's the same effect:
we are strangers sharing bits of genetic code and DNA.
I try, but have not broken my mother's injunction of secrecy,
frightened by unnamed dark things buried under rocky silence decades old.
I try, but have not escaped the necessary lies she hides behind.
What monstrous truth could still be sharp enough,
still reach deeply enough through the years to shred our current peace?
Can her past really hurt me now?
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