I hear their screams of silent disapproval

Feel their arms, clutching me, holding me back

“Don’t go out there. You’ll die. It’s not safe for us.”

My belly’s a stone

Ingested before I was born

I’ve tried to throw it up

Doesn’t budge, it’s mine now

I carry it with me

This inheritance

This heavy key to the past

This memorial to those before me

This museum housing their lives’ dreams and losses

Maybe it’s not something to pass

Like a kidney stone

Or to be removed like a cancerous growth

Perhaps I need only to lovingly lay it down

At the feet of those whose dreams I am now living

Perhaps their burdens are not mine to carry

But mine just to remember, and know

As I move forward into my own life’s dreams and losses

To be remembered, one day, and known

By those who come behind me

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: inheritance