Ancestors alive nowhere more than in you.
This fear you may owe them a something.
But is it enough to house?
Deserve they too love?
Draw some lines.
I feel them biting their cousins in my ear.
Deeds, now absent as thoughts, present as pollen.
I relive the grief of generations, conceptlessly.
Swim among secrets betwixt your own self.
And see in every mirror a shudder of bones.
Born in Austin, Will Pewitt has taught fiction at a variety of institutions from the University of Arizona, where he earned his M.F.A. to the University of North Florida, where he currently he currently teaches global literature. His work has appeared in over a dozen journals, most recently The Literary Review. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.