Legacy

 

Spasms space the sluggish scrawl

that flows and ebbs from her broken pen.

Sixty and a few months beyond, the lady pushes both luck and death

then leaves this final note to her pet.

"I hoped to live threescore and ten

but even this decade-short life has served me well.

This spinster born in a loveless home

has much to boast: memories, adventures, victories and more.

One persisting task I pass on to you,

deserved much after this morn's fight.

Live on your own terms, like this shrivelled great-aunt,

And on lonesome nights, remember this freedom chant.

Your mother worries, much like mine did

but not possibly more than you and I.

This world that labours life to the bone,

hates nothing more than a woman who holds her own.

But you won't be alone - or so I hope.

I pray your generation does better than mine.

I wish you a home to your name, that remains unchanged,

and a future where your efforts you can always reclaim."

Decades on (perhaps threescore long)

the yellowed letter hangs framed on an apartment wall.

And at the bottom, an update to the paper read,

"Easier said than done. But I did it."

The above poem is for the NaPoWriMo2021. Day 11 Prompt: Trace love across generations. Letters.